The 12 Days of (Chelsie) Christmas
by ChelsieSouloftheAbbey
Summary: A glimpse into 12 Christmas holidays in the lives of our favorite couple, this is a collaborative Christmas fic co-authored by chelsie fan, evita mockingbird, Hogwarts Duo, kouw, Chelsie Dagger, and ChelsieSouloftheAbbey, to commemorate the last-ever Christmas Special of Downton Abbey. (Characters are not ours, but we like to let them have fun!) FLUFF Happy Christmas to All!
1. Ch 1: A Partridge in a Pear Tree (1925)

**A/N Hello! First of all, this is not ChelsieSouloftheAbbey. Well, not really. This is chelsie fan, writing this chapter. But this twelve-chapter project is a joint venture among ChelsieSouloftheAbbey, Chelsie Dagger, evitamockingbird, Hogwarts Duo, Kouw, and chelsie fan.**

 **The theme, as you've guessed by now, is the song,** _ **The Twelve Days of Christmas**_ **. Each of us has written two chapters, but ChelsieSouloftheAbbey, whose brainchild this was, is posting the whole thing under her account. Please feel free to leave reviews here. We can all read the reviews and respond via PM.**

 **So here's a little early gift from us to you. Merry Christmas!**

* * *

 ** _Christmas Eve, 1925; Downton Abbey, butler's pantry_**

The party in the servant's hall was still going strong, but the Carsons had excused themselves early, because they wanted to spend time alone in their cottage before it got too late and they were too exhausted to enjoy themselves. They now stood in Charles's pantry, coats on, hats and gloves in hand, ready to depart.

"Do you remember where we were a year ago at this time – and what we were doing then?" Charles asked, a smile blooming on his face and a pleasant memory warming his heart.

"Need you ask? How could I forget?" replied Elsie, whose face also sported a fond smile. "We were right here." She paused to take his hat and gloves from him and to set them on his desk, along with her own. Then she returned and stood facing her husband. "As I recall, you'd just told me that you'd registered the house in both our names. I was afraid you pitied me, so I told you I couldn't accept your generosity."

He continued the story. "But then I told you it wasn't generosity or pity. I told you it was because I loved you with all my heart."

His wife chuckled at that. "I don't recall _those words, exactly_ , darling. There was something about being stuck with me and not marrying anyone else."

"It was all I could muster at that point," he said in his own defense. "I was frightened to death!"

"I understood your meaning well enough," she assured him.

"And you accepted my proposal," he went on, "and told me you loved me, too."

Elsie laughed again. "You have rather a skewed recollection of events, my dear. There was no talk of love. I believe I called you an 'old booby.'"

"But _I_ understood _your_ meaning well enough," he responded, echoing her words from a moment earlier. "And then, as I recall, I took you in my arms and kissed you senseless, just like this." Charles demonstrated by pulling his wife to him and eagerly pressing his lips to hers.

She lifted her hands to his chest and giggled against his lips. "Charles Carson, you did no such thing!"

"That's how _I_ remember it," he insisted. "And I held you close … and told you how beautiful you are … and how happy you make me … and I whispered all sorts of endearments and sweet nonsense in your ear." His words we punctuated with kisses to her cheek, jaw, and neck. "And then you told me I was the handsomest, most charming, sweetest man you'd ever met … how you'd fallen in love with me at first sight … and how much you adored me."

"That is _not at all_ what happened," argued Elsie with a broad grin, as she enjoyed his attentions.

"Well … that's how it happened _in my_ _mind_ ," he admitted, drawing back slightly. "And that's how I _wanted_ it to play out."

"I would have preferred that, too," she agreed. "I can't even begin to tell you how I stood there cursing those blasted cups of punch we were holding! As it was, I could only reach out and touch your arm, but I ached for so much more. I had all I could do not to throw my arms about your neck and weep for joy."

"I wish you had!" Charles shook his head. "What a pair we are, hm? But thank Heaven we got there in the end."

"Yes, we did. And here we are. Look at us now: happily married and ready to spend our first Christmas together in our new home," observed Elsie.

"Blissfully … ecstatically … rapturously … euphorically … married," he amended, once again alternating his words and insistent kisses.

"Mr. Carson, if you're going to kiss me like that, I suggest you take me home at once!" she warned. "I find our marriage is much more blissful, ecstatic, rapturous, and euphoric when we're alone."

Ten minutes later, after an exchange of good nights and Happy Christmases with the staff in the servants' hall and a short, chilly, moonlit stroll down the lane to their cottage, the Carsons arrived home, unbundled themselves from their outer garments, and removed their shoes. Charles turned on the electric lights on their small Christmas tree, lit some candles, and built a fire in the hearth in the sitting room, while Elsie went to the kitchen to heat some milk for hot chocolate. After the fire was roaring and the hot chocolate was ready, the couple sat cuddled together on the sofa, enjoying the warmth coming from the blaze in the fireplace, their steaming mugs of hot chocolate, and each other.

"I never imagined it, Elsie – that I could be so happy," Charles remarked. "From the moment you said 'yes' a year ago, I haven't stopped beaming with joy. I'm sure everyone could tell the moment we returned to the party upstairs what had happened between us. My foolish grin must have given us away instantly."

"Well, perhaps not on its own, but coupled with my own radiant smile, it was undoubtedly very telling," added Elsie. "I'm sure we made our new understanding perfectly obvious."

"Certainly no one was surprised when we announced it," he commented.

"No, indeed!" she said, laughing. "It seems _I_ was the only one who was utterly shocked that you'd proposed."

He shared her teasing mirth. "Not as surprised as _I_ was that you'd accepted me!"

Elsie's face took on a wistful glow in the firelight. "I'll never forget the tension in your face before I accepted – nor your look of surprise after I agreed. Did you honestly think I could ever refuse you?"

"Honestly, yes. I truly feared you might, and I would have been devastated," admitted Charles. "And _I'll_ never forget the shock on _your_ face just after I asked. Did you really think I never would?"

"Truly, Charles, I did. I thought we'd both go on as we had been. I imagined we'd never be anything more than colleagues and dear friends, and that thought saddened me greatly, particularly when you spoke of retirement. I knew I could never retire, and I feared _you would_." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't know how I would survive without you."

"Oh, Elsie!" he exclaimed, almost in tears. "I couldn't bear it any longer. For a time, I was content being your colleague and your friend. But then I realized I wanted more. I so enjoyed being with you: our time alone in the evenings, our little chats over sherry or port. My time with you was the highlight of my day. But I longed to hold you, to kiss you, to tell you of my love, to call you my mine. At the end of every day, after bidding you good night, I would go up to my lonely room in the men's quarters and think of nothing but how I'd much rather take you home each night – to _our home_ – to sit with you by the fire, to get comfortable and grow sleepy, to take you bed – to _our_ bed – to sleep all night with you in my arms, and to wake next to you in the morning. I wanted it so much I could taste it. I had to ask, even if you refused me. If there was even the smallest chance that you might love me, too, it was worth the risk."

"Well, it so happens I _do_ love you, too, and I _didn't_ refuse you. And here we are … in our own home … sitting on our own sofa … by the fire in our own hearth … wrapped in each other's arms." Elsie's words were interspersed with kisses and caresses. "Charles, I think it's time for you to take me to our own bed."

"I couldn't agree more, my love." Charles was only too willing to oblige her.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

 ** _Christmas morning, 1925; the Carsons' cottage_**

Elsie rolled over to kiss her husband's cheek. "Good morning, love, and Happy Christmas!"

"The very happiest Christmas ever! My first one with my beautiful wife in our own home." Charles returned his wife's kiss.

"The first of many," she predicted.

"You know, we're not needed at the house this morning," he reminded her. "We're not expected until servants' luncheon and the party. Whatever shall we do with ourselves?"

"Oh, I have a few ideas … " Elsie suggested as she rolled herself on top of Charles.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" he asked hopefully.

"Why don't I show you, hm?" she said as she nuzzled closer to him and began to demonstrate precisely what she had in mind, much to their mutual delight.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

 ** _Christmas night, 1925; the Carsons' cottage_**

After an exhausting day filled with much celebration and great happiness among their loved ones at the big house, Elsie and Charles once again found themselves snuggled together on their couch in front of a crackling fire. They'd already exchanged gifts, a few each, mostly small things, but this year their gifts were far more personal: perfume and decorative hair clips for her, a new shaving kit and new pajamas for him. But Charles pulled one more, small, wrapped box from his pocket and handed it to Elsie.

Elsie frowned in confusion. "You've already given me my gifts. What's this?" she wanted to know.

"Nothing much, in itself," he told her. "It's more a promise than anything. Go ahead and open it."

She tore apart the paper and opened the box to reveal a delicate Christmas ornament.

"It's a partridge in a pear tree. Like the song," Charles explained.

"It's lovely, Charles, and it will look beautiful on our tree," she said, holding it up appreciatively to examine it. "Thank you. But you spoke of a promise."

He nodded. "I did. As your 'true love,' I've got a lot of work to do and many years of catching up. But like the ardent suitor in the song, I vow to spend the rest of my life devoted to your happiness, providing you with everything you need, giving you everything I possibly can. This is not only 'the first day of Christmas;' it's our first Christmas as husband and wife. This is just the beginning, Elsie. I promise to lavish you with my love and attention from now on. Just like the gifts in the song, my love for you will increase daily." As he made his earnest declaration, tears sprang to his eyes.

"Oh, Charles! How did I ever manage it?" She shook her head in wonder her eyes also grew moist.

"Manage what?" he asked with a creased brow.

"How did I ever manage to work by your side for so all those years without ever throwing myself into your arms?"

He chuckled at that. "Very easily. Most of the time, I was a right curmudgeon!"

"Nonsense! You've always been a darling. You sometimes hid that fact very well, but I always knew."

"Well, I'm not hiding it anymore. Never again. I'll always be your darling," Charles proclaimed proudly.

"Happy Christmas, my darling man!" Elsie offered as she carefully set the ornament aside and kissed him soundly.

"Happy Christmas, my love!" he whispered against her lips between kisses.

And it was, in fact, a _very_ happy Christmas.


	2. Ch 2: Two Turtle Doves (1926)

**A/N: Season's Greetings from Hogwarts Duo!**

 **It was my absolute pleasure to write Two Turtle Doves for the round robin story. I hope you will enjoy this little glimpse into the lives of Charles and Elsie Carson on this, the second day of our story.**

 **Wishing you all a wonderful holiday season, whatever you celebrate! Love & Hugs!**

* * *

 _ **Two Turtle Doves ~ December 25, 1926**_

Elsie Carson rolled onto her side and stretched, raising her hands above her head and pointing her toes towards the far wall as she inhaled deeply. With a very contented sigh, she lazily opened her eyes, fully expecting to see Charles in the bed beside her, hoping she could curl up in his arms for a few more hours of sleep. Instead, the sight that greeted her was a blazing fire in their fireplace and an empty space where he should have been.

She glanced over at the clock on her bedside table and was surprised to find it was still early, much too early, in fact, to be out of bed on Christmas morning considering there were no children in the house. His pillow was cold, as was his half of the bed. She was just about to move from the warm blankets to go looking for him when the most delicious smells began to invade her senses.

Bacon and sausage smells were the first to pique her curiosity, causing her stomach to give a little growl. And there were other familiar scents, too, though she couldn't readily identify them despite their familiar tug on her memories. And then she heard the tell-tale sound of cupboards being opened, dishes being removed, and the silverware drawer squeaking a little. She smiled to herself, wondering when Charles was ever going to get around to fixing it. She'd only mentioned it twice a week for the last two months.

With sleep a thing of the past for now, Elsie decided to join her husband downstairs, if for no other reason than to appease her curiosity. With her dressing gown pulled tightly around her and her slippers keeping her feet warm against the chilly bare floor, she opened the bedroom door and stepped out onto the landing. As if on cue, she was greeted with the rich voice of her husband as it floated through the house and warmed her heart.

 _Still through the cloven skies they come  
With peaceful wings unfurled  
And still their heavenly music floats  
O'er all the weary world;  
Above its sad and lowly plains  
They bend on hovering wing.  
And ever o'er its Babel sounds  
The blessed angels sing._

The opportunity was too good to pass up. With his back turned to her, he began to hum the tune to _It Came upon the Midnight Clear_ and she immediately missed his singing. "I didn't realize blessed angels had such resonating voices, but clearly my angel does," she said sweetly as she stepped off the stairs and crossed the room to his side. She could see by the redness on the tips of his ears that she had embarrassed him, though that was not her intention.

He turned around so quickly at the sound of her voice that he nearly dropped the plate filled with bacon and little sausages. "Elsie Carson! You should know better than to sneak up on a man when he's holding a plate of bacon in his hands. I could have dropped it," he gently scolded before leaning down for a quick "good morning" peck to her lips.

One arm slipped around his waist as she took the opportunity to deepen the kiss while skillfully taking the plate from his hand and easing it onto the counter. She pressed the length of her body against his, and she wrapped him up in her arms. With his hands now free, he was able to return her embrace fully, to their mutual delight. Several warm kisses were shared between them before Elsie finally stepped back, though instantly feeling the loss of contact with him. "So, would you care to tell me why you're up so early on Christmas morning? I believe we're a little old to be racing downstairs to check stockings and presents left by Father Christmas," she teased.

"Well, if you must know, I was planning to surprise my lovely wife with breakfast in bed, though that plan seems to be ruined since she's standing right in front of me. And, judging by the firmness of my stocking hanging from the mantle, I'd say Father Christmas thought I was a very good lad, indeed."

Elsie couldn't help but laugh at his enthusiasm. "You mean to tell me that you are out of bed on a cold Christmas morning, before the sun is up, I might add, to cook breakfast and to check your stocking? And here I was hoping for a nice, leisurely start to the day … perhaps a delightful cuddle with my handsome husband."

"Believe me when I tell you that there will be plenty of time for that plan later, love. Obviously, you haven't looked outside this morning."

"No, I haven't," she replied, stepping fully out of his embrace and making her way to the window. Pulling back the curtain, Elsie was surprised at the sight which greeted her. During the night, a hefty amount of snow had fallen, covering everything in a blanket of purest white. Small breaks in the grey clouds allowed tiny moonbeams to dance along the snowflakes, causing them to glitter like diamonds. "Charles, it looks so beautiful," she gasped. "It's like a painting."

He came to stand behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her against his body. He pressed a light kiss just behind her ear before resting his chin on her shoulder. "It is a perfect Christmas morning, wouldn't you say?"

"But there's so much snow. We are supposed to meet everyone for church this morning and then go back to the Abbey for lunch."

"I hate to tell you this, but we won't be going anywhere. The snow is too deep, and I am guessing that most people will stay home today. I certainly don't want to risk you getting ill by walking all the way into town, then back to Downton, then home again in all of this snow. Once they've had time to get settled, I'll phone the house and let them know we're not coming and they won't be seeing us at church, assuming they'll even be able to go."

"Better to be safe than sorry, I suppose," she said, turning in his arms and hugging him tightly for a moment. "Shall we have breakfast now before it gets much colder?"

He kissed the top of her head then guided her to her seat at their little table. "You pour the tea, and I'll cook the eggs. Then, we'll be all set."

"What, exactly, did you cook? I could smell the bacon and sausage upstairs but there were other delicious smells that I couldn't place readily."

He grinned and gave her a little wink. "A full breakfast, love. Bacon, sausage, beans, toast with jam, and now eggs." He puffed out his chest and gave her a rather proud look. "And I'll have you know that I didn't burn the first slice of toast, even with your toaster behaving oddly."

"My toaster does not behave _oddly_! It works perfectly fine when I use it. You're just too impatient and raise the dial too high. That's why it burns."

"Hmm, so you say! But, no matter because I didn't burn it at all. Look," he said, placing a plate of rich golden brown bread on the table in front of her. "Perfectly toasted, just like you like it." He dropped a kiss to the top of her head then busied himself with the task of cooking the eggs.

After enjoying a delicious breakfast and doing the washing up together, Charles and Elsie made their way into their little sitting room. The tree was lit and there were a few presents peeking out from beneath the branches. "Shall we open our gifts now?"

"Let's take care of the stockings first. I don't like the idea of them hanging there at the mantle. I want to build a large fire to stave off the chilliness of the room. And, if I'm correct, the heat won't do much good for what's inside your stocking, Mrs. Carson." He kissed her sweetly then rose from his seat beside her to retrieve their stockings. "You first," he said, handing her the little stocking she'd embroidered with her name.

She kissed his cheek then began to remove the items one by one. An orange, some nuts, cherry flavored hard candy, and … "a chocolate bar!" she exclaimed with excitement. "I will have to ration this to make it last. Now I know why the fire wasn't as impressive as it normally is in here when I first came downstairs."

"Couldn't take the risk of a melted mess. Besides, I didn't think it would help the orange much, either, and I had planned on bringing breakfast upstairs to you. That's why I added extra logs to the fire before I left you to brave the cold kitchen."

"I'm sorry I ruined your plan. I think having breakfast down here was lovely, too … and no toast crumbs in our bed," she laughed. "Go on, then. Let's see what Father Christmas left you."

Charles grinned and dumped the contents of his stocking into his lap. Nuts, an orange, peppermint sticks, and a pair of knitted socks in the softest wool. "When did you have time to make these?" he asked, running his fingertips over the design and marveling at the softness.

"You'll have to ask Father Christmas about that when you see him. I wouldn't know a thing about it." She gave him a little wink before snuggling into his side. "A woman has to have some secrets, Charles, otherwise the mystery would be gone."

Carefully, he placed the contents of their stockings on the little table in front of their sofa and drew Elsie into his arms for a heated kiss. "The mystery for me is how you ever fell in love with me, and that, my dear, is something I shall never know nor understand."

"Don't talk like that, Charles, especially not today. I fell in love with you. You fell in love with me. And now … we're here. Let's just enjoy it, hmmm? No need to question the how or why of things. Let's just enjoy each day to the fullest."

He brought her left hand to his lips and pressed a kiss, first to her ring finger then to her palm. "Shall we go upstairs for a little nap? I think I should very much like to enjoy a leisurely afternoon with my wife in our warm bedroom in our crumb free bed."

"I thought you'd never ask," she replied, taking his hand and pulling him up from the sofa.

It was much later in the day after a very enthusiastic celebration of their love that the two finally roused from their little nap. Burrowed beneath layers of blankets to keep them warm, Elsie pressed against Charles's side and lightly kissed his chest, her nails grazing his side and causing him to squirm.

"You know that tickles," he growled before rolling over and pinning her beneath him.

"Ah, you're awake. Oh good," she said with an infectious laugh. "I was thinking we might want to get dressed and go downstairs for something to eat and to open our presents."

"Hungry, Mrs. Carson?" He lowered his lips to her throat, placing tiny kisses anywhere he could reach.

"Ravenous, Mr. Carson, "she purred, rolling her head to one side so he could nuzzle the spot just below her left ear. "And, if I'm honest, I'd like to see what I have beneath the tree."

"I have an idea. I was thinking about it this morning before you scared the life out of me, to be honest." He silenced her with a quick kiss to her lips then rubbed his nose against hers. "We don't have a Christmas feast like they'll have at the Abbey, but we could have a rather nice little picnic in front of the fire. What do you think?"

"A Christmas picnic in our cottage sounds lovely. I'd enjoy that very much, love. I'll take care of the food if you'll get a nice bottle of wine and some blankets."

"I love you, Elsie. Thank you for making this house a home and for filling it with warmth and happiness."

She blushed at his compliment. "It takes both of us to make this cottage a home, love, and together we each do our part to fill it." She kissed the tip of his large nose and ran her nails down his sides. "Now, if you don't let me get up, we won't be filling our bellies and mine is growing rather loud at the moment." As if on cue, her stomach gave a rather boisterous rumble causing them both to dissolve into a fit of laughter.

After a very filling picnic of leftover chicken, bread, cheese, fruit, and a perfect wine, Charles and Elsie snuggled in front of the fire, taking warmth from it and each other.

"I was a little upset this morning about being snowed in today, of all days. But, we've spent a lovely Christmas together, no interruptions, no demands on our time. I've enjoyed it more than I have any Christmas in memory," Elsie admitted softly. Her head was pillowed in the crook of Charles's arm, her body pressed against his, and her leg draped over his. "Thank you for making this such a lovely day and for all of my gifts. You spoil me."

"With all my worldly goods I thee endow," he reminded her. "Along with loving and cherishing you, it's part of my husbandly privilege, and I take those vows very seriously." He tipped her head back so he could capture her lips with his for a tender kiss filled with love and devotion. When he pulled back, he rested his head on top of hers and hugged her tighter. "I am happy you've had a lovely day, and thank you for my gifts as well. I'm excited to start my own wine ledger for our cottage. It won't be anywhere near as impressive as the one at Downton, but it will be ours."

"I love the sound of that word … ours. It means so much and holds so much promise." She was about to lean over and kiss him when she spied something nestled at the back of the tree. "Charles, what's the little box with the blue ribbon on it? I don't remember wrapping that, and how did it get here?"

"Oh, I'd forgotten about that," he said, moving away from her and retrieving the small package. "I ordered this for you from one of Mrs. Patmore's catalogs. I asked Miss Baxter to wrap it for me as a surprise for you." He handed Elsie the gift and watched with excitement as she carefully unwrapped the item.

Nestled inside the box was a pair of porcelain turtle doves with gold thread so they could be placed on the Christmas tree. Elsie gasped as she took them in her hand, marveling as their beauty and delicate nature. "Charles, they're lovely. They're … they're us," she said as a single tear slipped down her cheek.

"Two turtle doves … in our own little nest, or cottage as it is," he replied softly, kissing away her tear of happiness. "I thought they would be appropriate since turtle doves mate for life, and they're supposed to be a symbol of love, friendship, and faithfulness, all of which we have in abundance, my dear."

"I would completely agree, Charles. Help me up so we can hang these on our tree. I want them right at the front so we can see them every single time we look at our tree."

Standing behind Elsie with his hands on her hips and his chin resting on her shoulder, he watched as she placed his gift, their turtle doves, in the center of their tree. "Happy Christmas, my darling Elsie."

She turned in his embrace and wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him down to her. "My happiest Christmas yet, my husband."

Christmas Day 1926 would forever remain one of their favorite memories. Each year afterwards, the turtle doves would be gently placed on their tree, no matter how large or small, in a place of honor to remind them of that snowy Christmas and all the love they shared.


	3. Ch 3: Three French Hens (1915)

**AN:** **Hi! Evitamockingbird here. I've gone back in time a few years for this one. Hope you enjoy _Three French Hens_. **

**Have a great day!**

* * *

 _ **December 23, 1915**_

Mrs. Hughes sat at her desk adding figures. Everything matched as it should, so she looked forward to a leisurely evening - perhaps drinking a cup of tea with Mrs. Patmore or a glass of wine with Mr. Carson. If they were both busy, she would retire early and do a little reading before she went to sleep.

When she had closed her ledger, Mrs. Hughes left her sitting room and meandered to the kitchen. Mrs. Patmore and Daisy were busy with a crate of poultry.

Mrs. Hughes furrowed her brow. "What's this?" she asked. "Do you usually receive deliveries at this time of night?"

"Certainly not! And I won't again, I can tell you. Mr. Samuels will get a thick ear the next time I see him! I can't keep Daisy up much longer, which leaves most of the work to me," the cook grumbled.

"Those are some nice hens," Mrs. Hughes commented.

"Would you like to stay and pluck one?" Mrs. Patmore suggested caustically. "You're a farm girl, aren't you?"

"I'm afraid I wouldn't remember how to go about it," the housekeeper answered. "And anyway, I must be off. I've something to do before bed." And she headed quickly down the corridor in search of Mr. Carson, humming softly as she walked. His pantry door stood partially open and Mrs. Hughes knocked and entered.

"Ah, Mrs. Hughes," he greeted her. "Have you any time to drink a glass of wine with me tonight?"

"I do, Mr. Carson," she replied. "What've you got?"

He brought the decanter and two glasses and set them down on a small table. "Burgundy. A fine one." He poured their glasses and they sat down to drink. "You've got a funny look about you just now," he observed. "What's amused you?"

"Oh, nothing," she answered, with a wave of her hand, but Mr. Carson looked at her in expectation of an answer, so she began. "It's silly, really. Just something in the kitchen reminded me of my childhood."

"I won't push you to talk about it if you'd rather not."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Oh, it's nothing serious, Mr. Carson. I was only remembering the first time I realized what happens to chickens on a farm. I must have been four or five at the most. It's one of my earliest memories."

"Oh dear," he commented, a smile in his eyes.

"I used to name all the chickens," she explained. "They all looked more or less the same, so when one disappeared, I didn't really notice."

"But something happened. Did you see your mother plucking one?" Mr. Carson asked.

"We hatched a rather extraordinary hen once. She had the most beautiful plumage. I still remember what she looked like."

"And what did you name that one?"

Mrs. Hughes chuckled. "Princess Aurora."

"Must have been a pretty lovely hen!" Mr. Carson exclaimed. "But what made you think of it just now?"

"Mrs. Patmore has a hen in the kitchen right now that looks very like my Princess Aurora."

"So what happened to her?"

"I found some of her finest feathers in the kitchen," she told him. "I ran out looking for the princess and she wasn't there. I wouldn't eat my dinner and I cried for days. It was Christmas, you see, and my mother had picked the best three hens for the family to eat."

"The third day of Christmas? A gift from your true love?" Mr. Carson teased.

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Hardly, nor were they French hens - just ordinary Scottish ones. But I got over it soon enough, and I stopped naming the chickens."

"I suppose every child on a farm has to learn such a lesson."

"Not all, Mr. Carson," she told him. "Some of them seem to know it from birth and nothing shocks or surprises them. I never was squeamish about much, but losing Princess Aurora did upset me for a little while."

There was a knock on the open door and William peeked in. "Mr. Carson, the library bell is ringing."

The butler frowned and set his glass down. "Thank you, William," he replied.

"I thought his lordship had gone up already," Mrs. Hughes said.

"So did I," Mr. Carson answered, trying not to grumble.

"I'll say good night, then, Mr. Carson," she said and they left the room together.

"Good night, Mrs. Hughes."

#####

A few days later, Christmas arrived at Downton, crisp and cold. The staff bustled cheerfully about their business and enjoyed their celebrations interspersed with their work. At dinner, Mr. Carson asked Mrs. Hughes if she would join him for a celebratory glass of wine once the others were in bed and she agreed immediately.

Mrs. Hughes's heels clicked smartly on the floor as she made her way to the butler's pantry late that night. "Happy Christmas, Mr. Carson," she said in greeting.

"Happy Christmas," he replied. Her smile was infectious and he found himself smiling in return as he poured the wine. "I have something for you, Mrs. Hughes," he told her as he handed her a glass.

Her smile vanished. "Mr. Carson, I'm afraid I haven't got anything for you. If I'd known, I might have-"

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson reassured her. "I haven't spent any money."

Mrs. Hughes looked at him curiously. "All right then. Have you stolen something for me?" she teased, uncertain what he might mean.

He looked at her sternly, but with a twinkle in his eye. "I hope you know me better than to believe that, Mrs. Hughes." He took a small stack of books from his desk and held it out to her. She took it, noticing as she did that each book had a page marked with a red ribbon. "I've just borrowed a few books from the library for you, with some of my favorite passages marked for your enjoyment."

"That's very thoughtful, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes responded. She was touched that he had taken the time to do this for her. It was a small gesture, but meaningful all the same.

"I know we don't always agree on what we read, but I tried to consider what _you_ might like."

Mrs. Hughes was going to set the books on the table and leaf through them later, but Mr. Carson was looking at her expectantly, awaiting her opinion on his gift. She took the book from the top of the stack. "Dickens," she read, before opening to the marked page. " _A Christmas Carol,_ very apt." She read for a few moments and smiled. "Mr. Scrooge shouting out of his window for a lad in the street to buy him that enormous goose."

"It's such a jolly moment, especially after all of the dreadful apparitions of the night before," he explained.

"One of my favorites, too," Mrs. Hughes replied. "I like Scrooge's reform. You can see that he's always had good in him - the old chap just needed to be shaken out of his wicked ways." She set aside the first book and moved on to the next.

" _Northanger Abbey._ You surprise me, Mr. Carson. I know you to be well-read, but I wouldn't have expected you to go beyond _Pride and Prejudice_ when it came to Austen."

"My answer to that is marked with a ribbon. I think you'll know what I mean."

She opened the book and read for a few seconds, then laughed. "'The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.' I'm glad to find you agree with me here, Mr. Carson, although I suppose a man could be considered well educated without reading many novels."

"Ah, but the important thing is not how many he reads, but whether or not he enjoys them."

She nodded in agreement. "Right you are. Now, what have we next? Shakespeare's sonnets! Now I _am_ curious to see what it is that you think I may like." Mrs. Hughes flipped open the book and began to read aloud. "'Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover-'"

Mr. Carson reached out and took the book from her hands, his brow furrowed. "That's not right. I've put the bookmark in the wrong place."

"You don't like one-sixteen?" she wanted to know.

"It's not that I don't like it," he replied. "It's just not the sonnet I wanted to show you." Mr. Carson flipped hurriedly through the book, looking a little flustered.

Mrs. Hughes wondered what might have him looking flushed and she blushed herself at the conclusion to which her mind immediately leapt. But she recovered swiftly. She knew it couldn't be true. Perhaps he was thinking of some former flame and was embarrassed at his sentimentality being discovered. "Any luck?" she asked.

"I'm afraid not. I'll search it out sometime when I'm not in a rush."

She held out her hand for the book. "Won't you let me finish reading one-sixteen before you take it back? I don't have to read aloud if you don't prefer it."

Mr. Carson was happy to relinquish the book into her hand. "Please do. And I'd be glad to hear it read aloud. It's not a pleasure I am ever afforded nowadays."

Mrs. Hughes found Sonnet 116 again and picked up where she had left off. "'or bends with the remover to remove. O no; it is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests, and is never shaken; it is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks, within his bending sickle's compass come; love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.'"

The room was silent, except for the ticking of the clock. Mrs. Hughes kept her eyes turned on the page in front of her, though they were no longer focused on the words. Mr. Carson looked into his wineglass, a hint of a smile playing over his lips. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," he murmured. "That was lovely."

She refused to look at him. The moment was too full, though of what she could not say. It was an overwhelming _something_ that was both tantalizing and frightening. Hearts could be broken in moments like these, if words were spoken that could not be taken back, and she was determined that hers would not be one of them. She regained her composure and set aside the volume of sonnets in favor of the last book. "What's this, then?" she wondered, opening to the marked page. Mr. Carson was pulled from his reverie and watched her with a mischievous glint in his eye. Mrs. Hughes read a few lines and then her laugh rang out through the empty corridors. "Oh, Mr. Carson," she said, still laughing. "What a marvelous Christmas gift."

"You like that one, then?" he asked, eyes twinkling. She couldn't know what a gift it was to him to hear her laugh like that. The last time he remembered her laughing that way was when she was a housemaid and on that occasion _he_ was not the one who had elicited such a lovely sound from her.

"Oh, yes." Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Thank you."

Mr. Carson nodded in acknowledgement of her thanks. "I'm afraid it's very late," he remarked.

Mrs. Hughes rose from her seat and he followed suit. "I'll say good night," she told him.

"Good night, Mrs. Hughes."

It was only when she had reached her room and dressed for bed that Mrs. Hughes realized she had left the books behind. She laughed quietly at the thought of the last book, sitting on a table downstairs in Mr. Carson's pantry. It was a volume of fairy tales, a red ribbon marking the beginning of a story she knew well. She pulled the blankets up to her chin and closed her eyes, unable to wipe the smile from her face as she remembered once again chasing the chickens around in their pen as a young child. It was a happy memory, a feathered Princess Aurora tying it forever to this particular tale: _Sleeping Beauty._


	4. Ch 4: Four Calling Birds (1927)

**A/N: Hey there, everybody! ChelsieSouloftheAbbey here, with my first entry in our collaborative fic. welcome to "Four Calling Birds" - I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for the LOVE that you've given us in reblogs, follows, favorites, and reviews!** **xx**

* * *

 _ **December 23, 1927**_

It was mid-afternoon and Elsie was trying valiantly to balance her ledger before the Christmas festivities began. She and Charles were hoping to head home today as soon as their duties were finished - which, hopefully, would be by suppertime - and spend as much time at the cottage as possible. The tree's branches had settled by now and Elsie couldn't wait to get their ornaments displayed and the lights turned on; the distraction of imagining them doing that and then snuggling on the sofa with a glass of port afterwards just wouldn't leave her be.

But things didn't look good for leaving early this evening, much to her dismay. She still had three gifts to wrap, Charles was knee-deep in wine selections for the holiday week, and the downstairs was bustling with a flurry of activity.

Elsie looked up as a timid knock sounded from her half-opened door. She turned in her seat to see who it was, although the timidity of the knock sounded familiar enough.

"Yes, Daisy? What can I do for you?"

"I'm ever so sorry to bother you, Mrs. Carson, but I need a favor." Daisy was clutching something in her hands, something that looked like … _a handkerchief?_

"Yes?"

Daisy entered the room and showed Elsie the item she held – which was, in fact, a lovely handkerchief.

"I've embroidered this for Mrs. Patmore for Christmas," she explained quietly, "but I've nothing in which to wrap it. I feel so foolish for not having considered that before, but …"

Elsie motioned for Daisy to sit, and reached out her hand for the handkerchief.

"Daisy," she whispered, a look of awe on her face, "this is _beautiful!_ Where did you ever find the time to make this?" She traced her fingers around the light embroidery – a lovely pattern of clover.

"I've been working on it at night - Miss Baxter showed me how. It took quite a while, I don't mind admitting. It's not much, but I do hope she likes it."

"She will treasure it, I am quite sure," Elsie answered, a warm smile on her face. "I think I have just the box to wrap it in, too. I don't see why I couldn't have it done before I leave, if that's alright."

"Yes, of course. Oh, thank you so much, Mrs. Carson!" Daisy smiled brilliantly and bobbed her head, then fled back to the kitchen at the sound of the cook's summoning.

Elsie barely had time to scratch a few more sums in the ledger before another knock sounded on her door - a door which, she realized belatedly, she really should have _closed_.

 _Sigh._ "Yes?"

"Mrs. Carson," Anna gasped, "I'm so glad I've caught you! I _cannot_ find the bedspread for the Gold Room! We've got the Aldridges coming in two hours and I've practically torn the linen closets apart looking for it. You know it's Lady Rose's favorite."

"Yes, I do," Elsie replied, rising from her chair. "Come on, then, I'll help you look. It'll go faster with the two of us."

"Oh, thank you! I know I could have used something else, but Lady Grantham was insistent that things be _just so_ …" she trailed off, giving Elsie a rather pointed look which earned a smile back from the housekeeper.

"Oh, don't I know it!" Elsie answered, thinking back to this morning. Lady Grantham had come knocking on Elsie's door at the ungodly hour of eight thirty, wanting to review the menus one last time to make sure that everything would be _'just perfect for Lady Rose.'_ Elsie had only arrived from the cottage fifteen minutes before and, while she admired Lady Grantham's involvement in the running of the house, it had been their third meeting in two days about the menus alone!

Half an hour later, Elsie laid her hands on the bed cover in question. "There you are!" she exclaimed, turning swiftly - and running smack into her husband.

"Here I am," he said, puzzled.

"Oh, Charles! You scared the life out of me!" she gasped, hand at her chest.

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" he replied in a hushed voice, looking up and down the corridor to see that it was clear before nudging his wife back into the linen closet.

"Cha -"

His firm kiss silenced her, much to her approval. Moments later, however, Elsie remembered that she had been in the middle of an errand.

"Charles!" she gasped, pushing him away, "I need to get this to Anna. And don't you have a million things to be doing yourself? I'd like to get home before midnight, I think."

 _"My_ tasks are almost complete, Mrs. Carson," he said, bushy eyebrows raised. "Is there anything I can do to help _you_ get out of here any earlier? I find myself feeling like a boy waiting for Father Christmas - I cannot wait to get home and decorate our tree."

She shook her head and smiled, then gave him a nudge as she swept past him. Charles wasn't to be deterred that easily, however, and grabbed her hand as she moved past him.

"I think, Mr. Carson, that if we ever want _me_ finished with _my_ work today, you'd better stay far away from me until I've done so!" And, with that, she removed her hand from his and headed down the corridor, where she was lucky enough to run into Anna. She held out the blanket, and smiled at Anna's obvious relief.

"Oh, thank goodness! Where in the world _was_ it?"

"It was mixed in with the linens for his Lordship's room. I've no idea how it got there, but no matter. Hurry and finish the Aldridges' room and you may just make it to the servants' tea."

"Thank you, Mrs. Carson. I'm sorry to have taken you away from your work, but I'm very happy you found this." Blanket in hand, she scurried off.

Elsie shook her head, filing away the thought that she'd have to have the maids sort through the rest of the linens after the holiday. There was certainly a plethora of things at the Abbey to utilize for guests, but it wouldn't do to be misplacing the family's favorite ones.

When she arrived for tea, Elsie plopped down in her chair rather soundly, a detail that did not go unnoticed by her ever-attentive husband. She felt his fingers brush over the top of her hand, and looked up to see his warm, loving smile, a questioning look in his eyes.

"Elsie? Is everything truly alright?"

She positively melted under his gaze, and returned the smile in kind. "Yes, just busy, you know. What with all the last-minute Christmas details to consider, I've barely had time to do any paperwork. I still have some wrapping to finish, and would like to tidy my desk so that I've not got to spend any extra time doing that over the holiday."

"Well, hopefully the rest of the afternoon passes more easily," Charles murmured, "because I have plans for this evening that involve a bottle of spirit, an as-yet-undecorated tree, and a beautiful Scottish lass by the fire."

"I do hope you have one in mind, Mr. Carson," she teased under her breath. "Scottish lasses are rather hard to come by in this neck of the woods."

He chuckled, a now-familiar sound that warmed Elsie from the inside out.

"Mrs. Carson?"

Elsie looked up to see Miss Baxter standing across from her. The housekeeper flushed faintly as she removed her hand from her husband's, rather mortified that he was still holding it in the presence of the staff.

"Yes, Miss Baxter? What can I do for you?"

"Actually, Mrs. Carson, it's something I think that _I_ can do for _you._ When you've finished your tea, might I see you for a moment in your sitting room?"

Elsie raised her eyebrows at Miss Baxter in question. "Of course," she replied. "Just give me a few moments to catch my breath."

"Certainly."

Exactly ten minutes later Elsie met Miss Baxter in the sitting room. "Now," she asked, "what's this about?"

Miss Baxter smiled at the housekeeper. "Well, Mr. Molesley and I were talking yesterday, and we've had an idea - consider it a Christmas gift, if you will. I've run it by her Ladyship, and she said it's a lovely idea and told me not to take _no_ for an answer.

"We'd like to oversee the staff tomorrow and on Christmas Day, if you've no objections, so that you and Mr. Carson can enjoy a quiet holiday at home. The proposal is that you are to leave tonight and return on Christmas Day for the staff dinner, and that you should not even _think_ about work between tonight and then." She was beaming, clearly happy with the suggestion, and Elsie was flabbergasted.

"You're quite serious about this, Miss Baxter?"

"Oh, yes. As long as you don't think Mr. Carson would mind?"

"Oh, don't you worry about Mr. Carson; leave him to me," Elsie said, thinking fast. "I suppose that could work … if you're sure?"

"We are. It's only Lady Rose and Mr. Aldridge visiting for guests, and I doubt they'd mind. They're bringing a maid and valet, so the staff wouldn't be stretched by their visit at all."

"Well, then," Elsie said with relief, "I suppose that's that! My thanks to you, Miss Baxter, and to Mr. Molesley as well. This is so thoughtful of you both, and it is much appreciated."

Miss Baxter nodded and gave a soft, "You're most welcome, Mrs. Carson," and left Elsie to her sums, which now seemed to go much more swiftly than before.

As afternoon darkened into evening, Elsie fetched her coat and headed off to find her husband.

"Are you ready?" she asked, poking her head in his door. "I've just got to stop by the kitchen and see Daisy and then get my keys to Miss Baxter, after which I'd _very_ much love to go home."

"Yes, just give me five minutes, love." Charles was positively beaming at his wife, and his eyes raked up and down her body as he admired her black and gold dress – his favorite, as he'd let her know many times. He tried not to focus on how much he enjoyed seeing it discarded over the back of the chair in their bedroom, too, knowing full well that's where it would be by the end of the night.

Elsie made her way to the kitchen, where she found Daisy and Mrs. Patmore. With a tilt of her head she beckoned for Daisy to come into the corridor, where she slipped the young woman a small parcel that had been hidden underneath her coat.

"Thank you," whispered Daisy, placing a quick kiss to Elsie's cheek.

"You're welcome, dear."

Elsie found Miss Baxter in the servants' hall and handed off her keys, chatting quietly with her until Charles was ready to leave.

* * *

 _ **December 24, 1927**_

"Charles, can you help me for a moment?" Elsie called. She was standing on her tiptoes at the top of the stepladder, straining to reach something tucked away in the back of the huge armoire that resided in their bedroom.

"Elsie," he growled, rushing over to her and putting his hands on her waist. She realized his intent had been to steady her, but the feel of his warm hands through her nightgown had the opposite effect. She gasped, but allowed him to guide her body back down to the floor.

"I know, I know," she said, rolling her eyes lovingly at him. "' _No climbing on ladders without someone else in the room, lest I fall.'_ Honestly, Charles, I _was_ being careful."

"I'm sure you were, dear," he said, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head before climbing the stepladder himself. "Now, what were you searching for up here, exactly?"

"There's a box tucked into the back corner," she said. "I'd completely forgotten about it until yesterday afternoon."

Charles peeked into the indicated corner and reached his long arm in to retrieve the box in question. It had a fine layer of dust on it – something that rather irked his wife, although she remained silent as he brushed it off.

"This?"

"Yes!" Elsie responded gleefully. "I can't believe it's been tucked away these past two Christmases. I don't know why I didn't think to fetch it before – well, the small bit, anyhow. The larger I knew was there ..." her voice trailed off as she took the box from him, brought it over to the bed, and lifted the lid, setting it aside.

Charles returned to the floor and approached his wife as she stood with her back to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin next to her temple as his brow furrowed in confusion. "The small bit?"

"Yes. This box contains two things," she replied, leaning back into the familiar feel of his chest. "Both are for Christmas … and both are from the farm."

"Oh? I thought I'd pulled out all of the Christmas things. I'm sorry that this was left out."

"Oh, don't be," she said softly. "These particular things were packed up with the contents of my sitting room when we moved. I'd not put either of them out in years, and so when the box was moved here I simply had forgotten about them."

"Well, this one I _did_ think of last year," she amended, extracting a small, holly-edged linen table runner from the box, "but we had no place to put it until we got that new table for the sitting room last month. My Mam made it, and it always took pride of place on our table during our Christmas dinner.

"But _this_ one," she said, reaching back into the box, "I'm ashamed to say I'd truly forgotten about. I haven't laid eyes on it in _years_ … and, well, it would have been hard to explain if I'd had it out on display at the Abbey." Her voice trailed off, and a faraway look appeared on her face. "I think it's time, though."

Charles watched in wonder as Elsie pulled a smaller box from the larger one. This smaller container was hand-crafted from some sort of wood. It was simple, but clearly sturdy enough to protect whatever was inside of it. She left the larger, now-empty box on the bed, and turned to sit on the mattress with the smaller one in her hand. She patted the spot beside her, indicating for Charles to join her.

Elsie lifted the hinged lid and heard Charles gasp in wonder as she pulled out the most delicate wooden ornament. It was a wreath, rather messily painted, on which nested four ravens.

"Four calling birds," he whispered. "To add to our collection. How wonderful! It looks … hand-crafted," he said kindly, not wanting to comment on the crude nature in which they were painted. He had his suspicions about this ornament, which his wife immediately confirmed.

"Becky, yes" she said softly. "Our Da whittled this ornament when I was just a girl, the year Becky turned two. It was _us_ , you see – our family. When Becky was older, she painted the wreath and the birds. It hung on our tree every year until my Da died; after that, Mam couldn't bear to put it out anymore … we weren't a foursome anymore, and it was a stark reminder of that."

"And you took it when you moved?"

"No," Elsie shook her head. "I'd left everything behind, really. But Becky gave it to me years later, at Mam's funeral – she said it would make me remember Christmas at the farm. She didn't want me to be lonely," she whispered, a tear trailing down her cheek.

"What made you think of it yesterday? I'm glad you did, please don't misunderstand me, but why now? What jogged your memory?"

Elsie laughed through her tears. "It was the _four calling birds_ – I felt like I had my own calling birds summoning me all day! Lady Grantham, Daisy, Miss Baxter, and even Anna! All I wanted to do was get home to decorate our tree and have a cuddle by the fire, and I was being pulled in all directions. Then it struck me as we were heading home last night. I remembered that I had my own calling birds, and knew I had to dig them out." She gave him a little smirk as she wiped her tears. "But _someone_ distracted me again last night, and so it had to wait until today."

"I love this, Elsie," he said softly, holding the ribbon so that the wreath spun around in the air. "I often feel as though our home reflects me more than you – possessions that come from the things _I've_ collected over the years, gifts from the family and such. But this is wonderful. I've no family heirlooms of my own, of course. This is … very precious." He stood and extended his hand to her, helping her up from the bed. "Let's hang this on the tree," he said with a smile, "and then," he added, dropping a kiss to her lips, "I believe I have other plans for our Christmas Eve."

"I thought you might," she replied seductively. "I have a sneaking suspicion they just might match my own."

* * *

Later, after a much-deserved nap, Elsie woke to the flickering of the firelight in their sitting room. She uncurled herself and stretched out on the sofa, underneath the blanket that Charles had thoughtfully placed over her body when he'd gotten up earlier. She allowed her gaze to wander about the room, and her heart filled with love and gratitude for all that she saw before her. The cottage was tidy, their stockings were hung from the mantle, the wood for the fire was well-stocked, and the tree's lights were twinkling, the light flickering off of their ornaments. She smiled as she thought of how they were amassing their own, personal collection, and how _right_ it felt for them to be doing so at long last.

"To warm you up," Charles's voice purred. She turned quickly to see him standing by the sofa as he handed her a tumbler of whisky, then ran his fingers through her loose tresses. She smiled lovingly at him as she reached for the glass.

"Thank you."

He joined her on the sofa and wrapped his arm around her; Elsie tucked herself into the side of his body, pulling the blanket around them both.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again - I love spending Christmas with you, Mrs. Carson," Charles said, giving her a squeeze, "and I find that every Christmas we have is my new favorite."

"Mine, too," she answered with a glowing smile. "Happy Christmas, Mr. Carson."

He reached down for another kiss, murmuring against her lips, "Happy Christmas, Mrs. Carson."


	5. Ch 5: Five Gold Rings (1923)

**A/N:** **Hello again from evitamockingbird!**

 **In this Christmas story, we've crept a bit closer to Mr. Carson's declaration, though we're not quite there yet.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **December 25, 1923**

Mrs. Hughes sat patiently in her chair in Mr. Carson's pantry. It had been a busy day and they were toasting the holiday together after the rest of the staff had gone to bed. Mrs. Hughes smiled as he poured their wine and hummed a Christmas tune.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," she said, taking the glass he handed her.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Hughes."

"Happy Christmas to you, too." She took a sip and was pleased. As usual, it was delicious. "Your choice of wine is more to my taste than that song you were singing."

His brows drew together for a moment, but soon he realized what she meant. "What have you got against _The Twelve Days of Christmas_?"

"It's a silly song," Mrs. Hughes explained. "Or at the very least, extremely impractical. Who would want their true love to send them all manner of birds and milkmaids and dancing lords for twelve days?"

Mr. Carson laughed. "Is there _nothing_ on the list that you would like to have?"

She looked thoughtful. "I suppose I wouldn't mind a piper, but not so many. More than one piper is too many, in my view."

"And that's all?" he persisted.

"Oh, I suppose I wouldn't mind the gold rings, though I don't know what I'd do with forty of them."

"Forty?!"

Mrs. Hughes smiled and rolled her eyes. "Do a little arithmetic, Mr. Carson," she teased. "Five gold rings for eight days makes forty."

Mr. Carson only chuckled softly and sipped his wine. Mrs. Hughes was quiet as well. It was a comfortable silence, each easy in the other's company. She felt almost hypnotized by the cozy warmth of the room and the tranquility of the night, which was likely the reason she spoke without much thought.

"A lady really only needs _one_ gold ring, as long as her true love slips it onto her finger in front of the vicar and all their friends," she mused in a soft voice. Mr. Carson's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. "And it doesn't need to be the fifth or any other day of Christmas. Any time of the year will do. In fact, springtime-" Mrs. Hughes stopped abruptly, suddenly realizing that she was speaking aloud. She was terribly embarrassed at what she had let slip, and Mr. Carson did not set her at ease.

"Very sensible. You needn't gild the lily, I suppose," he said conversationally.

Mrs. Hughes nearly choked on her wine. "What?" was all she could manage.

"Just what you said," Mr. Carson replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "One ring is certainly enough. My parents didn't need forty rings to marry and I daresay yours made do with just one as well, so why shouldn't it be enough for the lady in the song?"

She composed herself, reassured by his manner that he had heard nothing in her murmured foolishness beyond speculation about a fictional lady and her hypothetical true love. "Quite right," she agreed.

"On the other hand, forty gold rings might come in handy," he commented.

"How so?" Mrs. Hughes asked.

"Look at it practically, Mrs. Hughes," he told her. "If you sold the other thirty-nine, you could take your true love on a very nice holiday. To the seaside, perhaps." Mr. Carson looked directly at her, his expression completely unruffled and a small smile playing across his lips.

Mrs. Hughes was hard pressed to maintain eye contact with him. She remembered the staff's visit to the seaside several months ago and wondered if he were thinking of the same thing. _Surely not._ If he were any other man, she would suspect he was flirting with her. _Could it possibly be?_ She decided it was highly unlikely. If Mr. Carson was going to flirt with her, or anyone else, he would certainly begin slowly and methodically, as he did everything. There would be none of these unexplained little smiles and provocative comments. _Gilding the lily?_ No, it couldn't be. She was quite sure of it. However, she was starting to feel a bit off-kilter, so Mrs. Hughes decided to go to bed.

"I'm very tired, Mr. Carson," she told him, rising from her chair. "Good night."

"Good night, Mrs. Hughes."

After she had gone, Mr. Carson sat alone, sipping his wine and considering the odd conversation that had just taken place in his pantry. He felt strangely calm, when he thought he should be flustered and shaken. No, tonight Mrs. Hughes had been the one who left the room in a hurry, flushed and agitated. Mr. Carson couldn't suppress the foolish grin that appeared on his face. He had just flirted with Mrs. Hughes, something that would have been unthinkable not too long ago. What surprised him most was the pure _fun_ of catching her off balance. They had played opposite roles for so long, but he could see now why she might enjoy teasing him the way she did. He had no idea how he appeared to her when she flirted with him - he often felt faintly ridiculous - but when the tables were turned, he found her enchanting. A smile, flushed cheeks, a look of mild confusion, and little nervous movements were the reward for his outrageous behavior. And what a reward!

His wishes with regard to Mrs. Hughes had changed over time, in part because he himself had changed. Yet he had to admit that some of his wishes were not new, but had simply made their way from his unconscious mind - through his subconscious - fully into his consciousness. He knew now that he wanted more from her - more _with_ her - than just friendship. He could think of no future, vague or specific, that did not involve that gold ring they had just been talking about, for as much as he might enjoy paying her compliments and teasing her, he was not the sort of man who could behave in any way dishonorably. She was a respectable woman and deserved every bit of respect that he could give her. As much as he might enjoy seeing her discombobulated, he would not continue to tease Mrs. Hughes if his intentions were not serious.

His ultimate intention was to put that gold ring on her finger, but more than that he intended to love her. Mr. Carson had spent enough time in the world to know that those two things did not always go together, but he couldn't imagine standing in front of a church full of people and promising to love a woman unless he really meant it. Lying to the vicar! In the house of God! He didn't understand how anyone could do it, though he knew it happened every day. He wondered if Mrs. Hughes could lie to the vicar. He hoped not. He didn't think he could bear to have her without really having her. No, he would have to find her out before he asked her. He did believe she had some affection for him, but beyond that he could not say, although her inadvertent musings about the gold ring just now had given him hope. He would flirt and explore, looking for some sign from her that he could buy that gold ring. He hoped she would say yes and that she would love him, too. And perhaps, if he were very lucky, she would even let him take her to the seaside.

* * *

 **Please leave a review if you can spare a few moments.**


	6. Ch 6: Six Geese A-Laying (1926)

**A/N: Oh my stars, you guys, are you enjoying the entries as much as I am? They are all so delightfully Christmassy! I hope that you'll enjoy my contribution just as much and thank you to CSotA for asking me to participate and for keeping the posting perfectly on track.**

 **-kouw**

* * *

 ** _Downton Abbey, Christmas time 1926_**

"Everything hurts…"

"Can't be everything."

"My face. My whole face hurts. And my joints. And my hair."

"Do you want me to call Doctor Clarkson?"

"What is he going to do? Tell me to steam? To gargle with salt water? To take rest and to make sure I keep out of the draft?"

Elsie is sitting at her table in her parlour, a pan of hot water and chamomile in front of her, a tea towel laying beside it.

"I'll get you an aspirin, or would you prefer a powder?"

"I'd prefer it if my teeth stopped hurting!" she snaps and closes her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mr Carson, but really, this couldn't have come at a worse time. There is so much work to be done before Christmas."

"It's not like you to be ill," he says and hovers close by, on the ready for a quick retreat.

"Well, I can't say I like it much."

"I'll get you that aspirin and a cup of tea. You try and …"

Before she can say anything, he's gone. Which is probably wise, because she is _this_ close to verbally shredding him to pieces.

Even though he has been taking good care of her, getting her endless cups of tea and headache powders and calculating her numbers, now she can't keep her mind straight. She leans forward and presses her fingers alongside her nose, trying to alleviate the pressure.

It all started out innocently enough: she had a little cold - which is unlike her, but she braved it all with good humour and countless handkerchiefs. Then she had to go into Ripon for her Ladyship and got caught in the rain and the next day her whole head felt heavy and achy and it's not let up since. In fact, things are getting progressively worse. Her ears are clogged, her nose is clogged, her teeth hurt from pressure somewhere within her face and she is developing a very unattractive cough, too.

"Here's a cuppa," he says and puts down a big mug of steaming hot tea. She jerks a bit, not having heard him coming in again.

"Thank you," she says and she has no idea how she sounds, unable to hear herself speak (she does hear her heartbeat, the rushing of her blood).

"Do you still need this?" He points at the pot of hot water.

"No, I don't think so. It doesn't seem to be working anyway."

He picks up the pot and leaves again and suddenly she feels very sorry for herself. The pain is awful and the deafness inconvenient, her cough unbecoming - but mostly she feels lonely. She hasn't been able to stay up for sharing sherry with him at night, she's been barring her door to the younger maids, has told Anna not to come in unless there's an emergency.

The door opens again and she looks up expectantly.

"Bringing you a cup of soup. My mother always said it's the best thing when you're ill."

"Thank you, Mrs Patmore, I appreciate it."

"You don't look ill," the cook says.

"I know. I look like myself, but I don't feel it," Elsie answers.

"You don't sound it either. Should you not be in bed?" The cook fusses.

"It hurts more when I lay down, but I am very tired," Elsie admits.

She looks at the the mug of tea, the bowl of soup, the chunk of buttered bread. She picks up the cup of tea and drinks.

"Good thing I still have my appetite… Between you and Mr Carson, I'll need to re-lace my corset."

"You need to get out of that corset. It's not healthy being cooped up in that thing all day."

"Easy for you to say," Elsie says, a little put out.

"Why?"

"You are in the kitchens, you only come upstairs to discuss the week's menu with Her Ladyship on Mondays."

"How does that make a difference?" Mrs Patmore frowns.

"I'm up and down all day every day and _things_ aren't what they were, you know."

"You are aware they do sell other things to keep those _things_ happily supported."

Elsie stays silent and sighs. Her forehead is throbbing and she isn't sure if it's from her clogged head or from the conversation.

"Perhaps Father Christmas will bring you something new this year. Something that isn't a new set of hankies."

"Thank you, Mrs Patmore," Elsie says in the most Housekeeper-ish voice she can muster. Mrs Patmore laughs.

"I must get back. Daisy has everything well in hand in the kitchen of course, but I like to keep an eye on things."

Elsie nods slowly. "Of course you do."

Over the next few days, Elsie starts to despair a bit. Her nose is now both stuffy and runny, her voice has left her almost completely and her cheeks still hurt. Her ears are still clogged, but at least her teeth stopped hurting a bit. Mrs Patmore keeps bringing her chicken soup and other soft things to eat and Mr Carson keeps her updated on everything going on in the house. She is behind on almost everything: from keeping the linen rota updated to sending out Christmas cards.

"You shouldn't be doing this," he says and she jumps. His ability to slide in unheard combined with her temporary deafness means that she is often surprised by him.

"Who else would, then?" she replies and ties a neat bow of red and green ribbon.

"It is very late."

"I had to wait until everybody had gone up," she says and shifts her weight. She is very uncomfortable in her corset. It keeps her from breathing in deeply, making it difficult to really cough.

"Let me help you," he says and he slowly sinks to the floor which is strewn with rolls of wrapping paper, string and ribbon.

His knee clicks and he groans a bit.

Elsie bites her lip, keeps her eyes steadily on her wrapping.

"What do I do?" he asks then and she laughs.

"Well, you pick a gift, wrap it, put a ribbon on and write the name of the recipient on one of these little cards and then you attach…" she can't go on as a coughing fit hits her.

She closes her eyes, fumbles as she tries to pull her handkerchief from her sleeve. She presses one hand to her forehead as it positively aches with each cough. The coughs don't subside. She's not getting enough air and a sense of panic is starting to get hold of her. Mr Carson is scrambling up, then pulls her up too, lets her lean against him and she can breathe a little more now, but it is still not enough.

If it weren't a move from a penny dreadful, she'd ask him to help her with her dress, to untie the laces of her corset, but she can't, she cannot put him in that position, but she must act.

In between coughs she manages: "Please, leave me, Mr Carson…"

"I can't leave you now!" He is quite agitated.

She keeps coughing, uttering half-spoken words, hopes he will be able to string them into a sentence:

"I need to get out of this dress and out of my corset, I need to breathe."

He just stands there and she is starting to see stars, sways and his hands are on her waist and she can't care anymore, her blood is rushing loudly in her ears, drowning out the little bit of sound she's been able to hear and she feels how one of his hands pulls at the fastenings of her dress, how he manipulates her arm out of the sleeve. His hand is at her back and she feels the familiar tug of the being tie undone.

Finally, she can breathe.

When Beryl Patmore stumbles into the Housekeeper's sitting room to tell her that the goose for the servants' Christmas lunch has arrived safely and is brining away merrily in the store cupboard and here, she can have her key back - she is quite surprised to see Mr Carson holding his wife against him.

What surprises her more is that his wife is practically naked from the waist up: the top of her dress hanging down her waist and her corset lying on the floor, the laces undone in a hurry and definitely not by herself.

"Been at the Christmas cheer, Mr Carson?" she asks cheekily.

Charles doesn't answer, but Beryl can see Elsie's cheeks flush a bright red.

"I thought you weren't interested in one of those other things," she adds, enjoying herself a little too much at her friends' expense.

"I am chucking your gift in the fire," Elsie replies, her voice gruff from her earlier coughing fit.

Mrs Patmore laughs loudly, turns around, leaves the key on the desk and closes the door behind her.

"Are you really throwing out her gift?"

"Of course not," Elsie says, cuddling a little closer.

"Being married has changed things," he says, his arms tightening around her.

"How so?"

"Before I'd never have known how to have gotten you … erm … more comfortable."

Elsie lets out a charming little chuckle.

"Well, Mr Carson. If you play your cards right, and I'm over this blasted cold… who knows how comfortable we might make each other over Christmas?"

It's a promise Charles really can get behind.


	7. Ch 7: Seven Swans A-Swimming (1927)

**AN/ Howdy and Feliz Navidad from Chelsie Dagger! I hope you are all enjoying this daily dose of Chelsieness as much as I am. And now…More fowl for my true love!**

* * *

 _ **Mid December, 1927**_

When Elsie had proposed a pre-Christmas trip to London, Charles had jumped at the chance.

Lady Grantham was determined that the Downton Abbey Christmas celebration would out shine the subsequent Brancaster Castle New Year's gathering. With this goal in mind, there were many things needed which could only be obtained in London. Mrs. Hughes had volunteered herself to see to the arrangements in person. Mr. Carson was only too happy to go along to assist.

Clearly, he had not thought this through. For two days he'd been dragged up and down the town lugging all manner of items; from food to fabric. At the moment, Charles was enjoying a brief respite as he sipped a mulled wine in Covent Garden. He lovingly watched his wife going over her list. She looked calm and nonplussed, but Charles saw the slight flush of her cheeks. Like a swan, she was all calm and grace on the surface, but underneath, she was paddling like mad.

"Surely that's all of it," Charles almost whined, indicating the large stack of packages on the seat beside him.

Giving her list one last check, Elsie smiled over at her longsuffering husband. She knew that he'd come to London to enjoy time with her only to be put to work as a beast of burden. "Only one more stop," she promised. "And it's on the way back to Lady Rosamund's."

"That's a bit of good luck," Charles sighed.

"It's called planning, Charles. Luck had nothing to do with it," his wife corrected.

Charles bowed his head, duly chastised. A slip of paper on the table caught his eye. It was a flyer for a Christmas Panto show at a nearby theatre. Seeing it, he could not help but laugh.

"What's so funny?" Elsie wondered, looking up from her spiced apple cider.

"This," he showed her the pamphlet. Elsie eyed it with a smile.

"'The Pied Piper and Rapunzel: the Unauthorized Story'," she read. "Sounds perfectly ridiculous."

They both laughed. Being ridiculous was, of course, the whole point of Panto.

"I hope Anna will let us bring the baby to a Panto in a few years," Elsie said wistfully.

"That is certainly something to look forward to," Charles agreed. "But I was laughing because I was actually in a Panto in this very theatre back in the day."

"I can just see you as the handsome Prince Charming," Elsie giggled at the idea of Charles in tights and treading the boards.

"No, I was not the prince. I was the Twelve Days of Christmas," Charles smiled to remember. "Or one of the days at least. I was the 'seven swans a-swimming.'"

"What? All of them?"

"Of course. It was rather a brilliant bit of costume design, actually. I wore a white hat with wings and a swan's neck so that my head was a swan." Charles demonstrated with his hands beside his head like wings. "There was a blue ruff around my neck like a lake with two smaller swans attached."

"And the other four swans?"

"They were swimming, of course," Charles smirked. "Or rather, I was juggling them."

Elsie laughed as Charles' eyes sparkled at the memory. "It was hard work. I had to help backstage and there were four shows a day, but it was worth it."

"It paid well then?"

"A pittance, but you can't put a price on the sound of children laughing," Charles sighed. "It was my first Christmas away from Downton and I was feeling down, but that laughter…"

"Christmas is all about the laughter of children," Elsie finished, understanding perfectly.

"Exactly. That was the best job I had in the theatre. It was all downhill from there."

The sights and sounds of Christmas surrounded them as they finished off their drinks in nostalgic silence.

"Speaking of children's laughter," Elsie said suddenly. "We must get going if we're to make it to the toy store. There are several things to pick up and we must confirm the delivery of the children's gifts from Mr. Talbot."

Charles rolled his eyes at the thought. Mr. Talbot had ordered three tin racing cars sized for the children. Charles felt sorry for Nanny and Mr. Barrow who could look forward to many sore toes in the New Year.

"Yes, we wouldn't want those to go astray," Charles said sarcastically. He picked up a few of the packages and allowed Elsie to laden him with more. The boxes stacked all the way up to his neck.

Elsie looked at him and laughed.

"What?"

"I was just picturing a swan sitting atop all those presents," Elsie smiled. "Only now, it's a black swan."

Elsie reached up and pulled the brim of Charles' black bowler down slightly, giving it a rakish tilt she knew would irk him. His smiling glare warned her that there would be repercussions to her teasing later that night, but Elsie found she was not afraid. In fact, she was rather looking forward to it.

 **AN/ In first season interviews either Fellowes, Neame or Bruce described Downton as a swan; graceful above water but swimming like Hell below. I've always loved that notion.**

 **I will respond to reviews left here. Thank you so much for reading.**


	8. Ch 8: Eight Maids A-Milking (1919)

**A/N: Thank you all so much for being so supportive of us all! I hope you'll enjoy the flashback within a flashback that is my last entry! Please let me know what you think and I wish you all a very happy Christmas and a lot of joy reading the coming chapters! -kouw**

* * *

 ** _Yorkshire, Servants' Ball 1919_**

The guests are dancing around the Christmas tree and Elsie is keeping a sharp eye on the refreshments and her maids. She watches Thomas dance a waltz with the Dowager Countess and Lady Mary leave the party with Mr Crawley in tow. She knows where everyone is at any given moment - it's second nature to her now and she remembers fondly the moment that pushed her towards becoming Housekeeper.

* * *

 ** _Advent 1884_**

She's never seen anything like it before. Two men are dragging a pine tree into the house while Miss Bartlett is giving them instructions. The tree's scent fills the parlour and Cook is standing next to her with sparkling eyes, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Well, my girl, what do you think?!" she exclaims and she puts an arm around Elsie's narrow shoulders, giving her a squeeze.

Elsie has no idea what is happening, but she is enjoying the festivity of the moment and the bustle around her. She has brought a box of decorations from the attics - delicate baubles made from the thinnest glass and quilted hearts with chubby little angels on them, strands of oddly prickling golden thread and paper wreaths, little gold-coloured candle-holders on tight clips - and is eagerly awaiting Miss Bartlett's instructions.

"I'm not sure…" Elsie says - her accent pronounced - and she watches the men putting the tree upright in a zinc vat filled with sand.

"Oh you. Well. I'll best get cracking on those mince pies. Miss Bartlett won't be best pleased if she hasn't any to share tomorrow!"

Cook lets go of Elsie and disappears behind the green baize door to the Servants' Hall.

"Elsie?"

Miss Bartlett is a tiny little thing and looks as frail as anything, but she is stronger than you'd give her credit for and she is stubborn too. Especially when talking to her brother, who always comes to dinner on Thursday nights.

"Yes, Miss?"

"How about you bring that box over here and help me make this tree look pretty?"

"Yes, Miss!"

Elsie carefully lifts the box - which is by no means new - and carries it over to the sofa, but Miss Bartlett directs her to the side table.

"Well, first we put up this…" Miss Bartlett points at the golden thread.

Elsie watches as the tree turns from a simple piece of nature into a lusciously wrapped present. The glass baubles reflect the light and the quilted hearts hang from colourful ribbons to be admired.

"Why don't you put the candles on," Miss Bartlett encouraged and Elsie reaches into the box to grab a few of the little clips.

One by one she fills the tree until the box is empty and the little white candles are all in place, ready to be lit up that very evening.

* * *

"You should have seen it, Mam!" Elsie says excitedly.

Miss Bartlett has let her go home for Hogmanay and she's received a roll of fabric to make a dress from as a Christmas present. Not lavender like her uniform either - no, it's floral and there's so much of it that if they cut it frugally, there'll be enough left to make Becky a similar dress.

"All of us lined up in the hall and Miss Bartlett handing out gifts and Cook got a little clock and she almost cried and we had mince pies and tea and a big luncheon after the upstairs luncheon had been served. And in the evening we were called up, and Mr Woolford lit all the little candles that I had put on the tree and all of us and we sang carols. I didn't know the words, but they are easy and it was really wonderful!"

"I'm glad, pet. Now, you tuck into your food before it gets cold."

Mam is smiling at her and Dad gives her a wink. Becky is pushing her potatoes around her plate.

"Oh, it's good to be home, too!" Elsie says quickly and Becky looks up, her head cocked to the side.

"You want to be the one bringing the new year in tonight?" Elsie offers.

"Together?"

"You want to do it together with me?"

Becky grins.

"Then we better eat up. We need our strength tonight!" Elsie gently manipulates her sister.

She watches Becky eat what's left on her plate. A little mess of 'bits' is piled high on the edge.

* * *

The bell rings and Elsie hurries up the stairs to the parlour where Miss Bartlett is slaving away on an embroidery of a farm scene.

"You rang, Miss?" Elsie says, trying to keep her accent as contained as she possibly can. It's getting easier, but there are words that just won't succumb to her will.

"Yes, Elsie. I want to know how everything went at home. Did you see your parents?"

"Yes, Miss. Everything went well."

"Good." Miss Bartlett looks at her with kind eyes.

"Now, Elsie. You may have heard that Mary is leaving to marry her young man."

"Yes, Miss," Elsie nods and thinks about Mary and her incessant talk of her upcoming nuptials, where she and her fiancé will live and her trousseau.

"I've spoken to Mr. Woolford and he and I agree that you would be very capable to take Mary's place as first housemaid. I know you are still very young and it is a position that means you'll have some responsibility, but I think you'll do very well. How do you feel about that?"

Elsie swallows, her mind is going over all the pros and cons in lightning speed.

"Thank you, Miss. I really appreciate it," she says and Miss Bartlett gives her a sharp nod.

"Who knows, Elsie. Maybe one day you'll be head housemaid. Or even Housekeeper."

* * *

 ** _Yorkshire, Servants' Ball, 1919_**

"You were miles away, there, Mrs Hughes," he says and Elsie turns to him.

"Just reminiscing, Mr Carson," she says.

"Yes, I find that the dark days around Christmas in particular lend themselves for quiet reflection."

She doesn't answer. Mr Carson offers her a glass of wine and they stand together, watching the young people dance and chatter. The ball is a great success - especially in light of the hard years of war that are now truly behind them.

"The New Year will be here soon," Mr Carson remarks.

"Indeed," she says.

Becky will be bringing in the new year by herself again and there won't be any Hogmanay celebrations in Lytham St. Anne's. She balls her fist and releases it again. Some years ago - before the war - she had asked Mr Carson if he had ever thought about going another way and he had turned the question to her. 'Maybe' she replied then. Because she is proud of what she's become: the Housekeeper in a noble house - one that prides itself on hospitality and that's only because she Mr Carson and Mrs Patmore make it so. But had she gone another way, she would be taking Becky's hand and they would laugh and dance and bring in the new year and bang on the pans with wooden spoons to chase away the demons.

The sounds of another waltz break through her stormy thoughts. Mr Carson holds out his hand and asks if she'd do him the honour.

She puts her glass on the table and follows him onto the dance floor. They move together silently, almost gliding on the notes. Mr Carson is an excellent dancer. If she'd gone another way, she would never had known that. From the corner of her eye she sees one of her maids being taken away by another and she shakes her head.

There'll be a fair few Beecham's Powders to be distributed in the morning. She won't be needing any herself. She's got herself well in hand. A Scottish farm-girl can hold her drink, she thinks and she smiles to herself.

"That's better," Mr Carson rumbles in her ear.

Yes. All in all she's made the right choices. She knows that.

Mr Carson twirls her about another time and she looks at the Christmas tree that's lit from top to bottom and she sends up a little prayer of thanks to Miss Bartlett.

* * *

 **A/N 2:** **Christmas was not celebrated in Scotland (all masses were forbidden, including Christmas), hence Elsie's wonder and joy.**


	9. Ch 9: Nine Ladies Dancing (1932)

**Chelsie Dagger here! For my second and final contribution, we dance into the more distant future. This includes some speculation based on the Christmas Special promo, but no official spoilers.**

* * *

 _ **Christmas Eve, 1932**_

The bus pulled to a stop at the end of Brounker Road. Charles Carson helped his wife down from the tall vehicle. Elsie pretended not to notice his small wince as she took his hand. She knew the weather had caused Charles' arthritis to worsen though he tried to downplay the pain.

It was the coldest and wettest December in years, certainly since they'd made the permanent move to Brounker Road. Frost and ice covered every inch from the stop to their front stoop. Charles had sprinkled salt on their immediate doorstep, but the rest of the way was rather treacherous. The couple clung to each other as they picked their way carefully home along the slippery pathway. The intent concentration required by the journey precluded any conversation on the short walk home.

At the front door Elsie produced her key and let them in. They both sighed in relief at the solid footing and laughed at themselves for feeling such relief. With their coats and wet boots secured in the entryway closet, Charles and Elsie made a beeline for the small sitting room near the kitchen. At present, it was the warmest room in the house.

The house was usually full of bustle and activity, but it was currently peaceful and quiet. Both of their long-term tenants were away for the holidays. Young Mr. Fitzwilliam, a craftsman working on the latest wave of houses being built on the estate, had returned to his parents' in Belfast. Old Mrs. Pruitt's son-in-law had collected her almost a week ago, driving her to Sudbury in a borrowed car. With no lodgers to feed the Carsons had given Theresa, their cook and maid of all work, a few days off to spend with her family in Thirsk. Elsie and Charles enjoyed the quiet, but were looking forward to the annual chaotic Christmas Day at Yew Tree Farm.

Ever since the Abbey had been shuttered, Mr. Mason's farm had become the most convenient place to celebrate important events with their friends and former colleagues. Sometimes members of The Family would join them, but this year it would be only the Bransons. Lord and Lady Grantham were Christmasing with Lady Edith and her growing family. All five Talbots were in London spending time with Henry's family, though they were often in residence at Crawley House the rest of the year.

Elsie exited to the kitchen to put the kettle on while Charles lit the fire he'd built that morning before leaving for church. He was just straightening up when Elsie returned.

"Interesting sermon today," Charles commented. "Though I'm still not convinced it had anything to do with Christmas."

Elsie chuckled at her husband's predictable response. Truth be told, Charles had not approved of anything the new Reverend, Mr. Fletcher, had done since Mr. Travis' retirement. She had been expecting this conversation ever since they'd left church.

"What were you expecting?"

"I'm not sure; shepherds or wise men or angels. You know, something…Christmassy."

"You don't think 'nine ladies dancing' is Christmassy enough?" Elsie asked with a smirk.

"It is from a Christmas song, I'll grant you, but I've never heard the nine ladies dancing compared to the nine fruit of the Spirit," Charles frowned. "I think he made that part up."

"And if he did?" Elsie challenged, settling on the couch beside Charles. "It's a sweet notion. I think it is right that we take this time of year to reflect on the people in our lives and the gifts they possess that they bring into our lives."

Charles harrumphed and shrugged. His wife did not find his attitude acceptable and she told him so with a look. "Just for that, Charles, I am going to make you name the ladies in your life who exemplify the different fruit of the Spirit."

"That's easy," Charles beamed.

"And you can't say me for any of them," Elsie quickly amended.

Charles' expression darkened. This would be more difficult than he'd first thought.

"I'll give you time to think on it whilst I prepare the tea," Elsie offered. She'd only just left the room when Charles heard the kettle whistle. Her timing really was uncanny, he reflected.

Several minutes later, Elsie returned with the tray containing their tea and sandwiches.

"Well?" She asked, beginning to pour his tea. "I'm listening."

"The first is easy," Charles began.

"Love," Elsie provided.

"That has to be my first love," Charles said with a dreamy, nostalgic look in his eye.

Elsie bit her lip anticipating hearing Alice's name. Maybe she should have let him use her in this case, Elsie mused.

"My mother," Charles revealed. "A mother's love is unconditional and the first affection most children experience. Could there be any better example?"

"No," Elsie agreed with a relieved sigh. "That is a fine choice. And Joy?"

Charles considered. "I would have to say Lady Sybil. I never knew a more joyful soul as a child or as a young woman."

Elsie nodded her approval. "And Miss Sybbie has followed in her footsteps. It's a marvel how like her mother the child is."

"More so every year," Charles said fondly. "Indeed, the day Mr. Branson returned from America with Miss Sybbie was the most joyful day of my life."

Elsie laughed at her teasing husband as she handed him his tea.

"Though you might have had something to do with that too," Charles admitted with a grin.

"I should hope so," Elsie giggled and kissed his cheek before sitting beside him. They sipped their tea in happy silence for a time. "Who have you chosen for Peace?" Elsie prompted after her tea was half drunk.

"You might find it odd, but I've selected Mrs. Crawley."

"It was not someone I considered. She was always fighting with the Dowager when the old… girl was still with us." Elsie caught herself before saying 'battle ax'.

"That's just it, she wasn't fighting. The Dowager was always waging war or girding for battle, but Mrs. Crawley seldom took the bait. Mrs. Crawley would disagree and state her objections, but she always did so in the spirit of reconciliation. She was looking for answers and a peaceful resolution."

"Even when the Dowager was looking for a fight," Elsie smiled. "Alright, you've convinced me."

"Which is next?" Charles wondered. He set down his tea and picked up the Bible he'd taken to church that morning; a lovely edition gifted to him by the Dowager many years ago when he was promoted to first footman. He opened the book to the bookmarked page in Galatians. "Ah, longsuffering," he read.

Having noticed how stiffly his fingers moved while turning the delicate pages Elsie stood and wordlessly crossed the room to a small table with an almost hidden drawer. Charles watched her, knowing exactly what she was doing. He opened his mouth to argue with her, but thought better of it at the last minute. His hands really were quite painful today, after all. He continued his assignment as Elsie retrieved the salve from the drawer.

"Lady Edith must be the most patient and longsuffering people that I know. She suffered the 'slings and arrows of outrageous fortune' for so much of her life, but took it all remarkably in stride," Charles noted. "At times it was as if she believed that she deserved the things that happened to her."

"I sometimes thought that too," Elsie chimed in. "I'm so glad everything has turned out better than any of us ever hoped for her."

Elsie settled back on the couch. She opened the small jar and then held a hand out for Charles. He reluctantly gave her his right hand, the one that had first betrayed him and driven him to what he deemed early retirement. Elsie took a dollop of the salve and began to massage his hand.

"What's next?" Elsie asked.

Charles looked at the open Bible on the table beside him. "Gentleness. That has to be Lady Grantham. She's a gentlewoman through and through."

"You do know that it's gentleness, not gentility," Elsie reminded Charles.

"I know that, but I would argue that she is both. Even when angry, I've rarely heard Her Ladyship raise her voice; once, maybe twice," he remembered. "And even then, it felt against her nature to do so."

Elsie glimpsed the Bible verse. "Goodness is next."

"That would be Anna, of course." No explanation was needed here. Elsie was in absolute agreement. Anna was good to everyone. This had been one of the greatest sources of frustration and irony during those times of false accusations and suspicions. It was a testament to her nature that the experience had not soured her. It could not be said that she'd weathered the trials unscathed, but it could be said that her core self, her soul, remained unchanged.

Elsie took another dollop of the salve the doctor had recommended and moved her attentions to Charles' other hand. He smiled down at the scene gratefully. His infirmity had embarrassed him at first, but his wife's steady love had made such pity impossible and indulgent. Charles leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

"Are you trying to soften me up because I'm not going to like your next selection?" Elsie teased. She knew full well what was coming.

"Lady Mary has always been faithful to me," Charles proclaimed defensively. "And to Anna and to Downton."

Elsie shrugged noncommittally. "Well, I knew you would have to include her and I couldn't allow you to attribute any of the other virtues to her." She smirked up at Charles. "So I must accept your choice."

"Do you remember when we told the Family about our engagement?" Charles asked.

"Of course. How could I forget," Elsie laughed. "I was terrified that we'd be sacked, but you insisted that we wouldn't."

"I knew we wouldn't be, because I trusted that Lady Mary would support us. I know you find her selfish and vain."

"Perhaps less so in recent years," Elsie admitted.

"But she is capable of absolute loyalty," Charles insisted.

"I do believe that," Elsie conceded. Whatever Lady Mary was, she was an important part of Charles' life. The fact that she'd made the effort to remain in contact with them even after retirement proved that it was not just a polite tolerance on Mary's part. There was true affection and loyalty on both sides of the relationship.

Also, it was Mary's tenacious loyalty to Downton that had held the Family together during the most recent financial crisis. Though things were still tight all around, the estate had weathered those dark, early days due almost entirely to her stubborn will.

"What comes next?" Elsie couldn't remember.

"Meekness," Charles read.

"Didn't Mr. Fletcher refer to it as Kindness?" Elsie tried to remember.

"Hmm. Kindness? Yes, I believe he did. I like that much better. If it was meekness, I'd have to say Mrs. Molesley or Daisy."

"Daisy as she used to be," Elsie commented. "She's quite the bold woman now."

"Yes, and I believe that is owing to the kindness of one Beryl Patmore," Charles declared. "For all her blustering and barking there really isn't a kinder soul in Yorkshire than your best friend."

"You know that I fully endorse that selection," Elsie smiled enthusiastically. The cook and housekeeper had butted heads when Elsie first came to Downton, but through the years the two had built a true and lasting friendship. After her relationship with Charles, Elsie's friendship with Beryl had been one of the most unexpected joys of her life.

"And finally?" Elsie asked, setting aside the salve and helping Charles into a pair of cotton gloves. Not only did the gloves keep his hands warm, they kept him from getting the greasy salve all over things.

"I had a hard time with Temperance," Charles admitted. "We don't know a lot of people who practice self-restraint."

"No, we don't. But there must be someone," Elsie encouraged.

"You'll laugh."

"Try me."

"Lady Violet."

Elsie did indeed laugh. "If that is self-restraint, I would have loved to see what she was like unbound!"

"True, she never held back her opinion, but there are other forms of self-control," Charles argued. "I've witnessed many a dinner that might have gotten out of hand without her steady influence."

"Wanting to keep the family business away from nosy servants is not temperance," Elsie disputed.

"Maintaining an outward dignity despite whatever she might be suffering is a type of temperance. You didn't see her immediately after Lady Sybil's death," Charles sighed. He would always remember her valiant and almost successful attempt to appear anything but devastated by her granddaughter's sudden death. No one else had witnessed that moment of weakness when she paused briefly to gather her strength to face the rest of the Family, but Charles had seen and would never forget.

"So, you have your nine ladies then," Elsie smiled. "And maybe you can admit it wasn't such a bad sermon after all."

"I never said it was a bad sermon. It just hasn't anything to do with Christmas," Charles stated stubbornly.

Shaking her head, Elsie returned the salve to its drawer. She then gathered the used tea things on the tray. "I must wash my hands or I'll get ointment everywhere."

"Why don't I turn on the radio? There is a Christmas broadcast tonight," Charles offered.

"But His Highness isn't speaking until tomorrow, is he?" Elsie asked, halfway out the door.

"Correct. Three o'clock. You're certain Mr. Mason has a radio?" Charles was most anxious not to miss the King's address.

"He doesn't know it yet, but Mr. Mason will have one by three o'clock tomorrow," Elsie confided. "Beryl and Daisy bought it for him last week. Beryl has seen how much he loves listening to ours when they visit."

"That was kind of them, but it must have been dear," Charles commented.

"It's used, but in near perfect condition. It was the demonstration model in the store. Beryl haggled a great deal over the price."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Elsie hurried off to the kitchen and returned shortly. The radio was softly playing a Christmas carol. The early afternoon light was golden outside the window. The room was lit only by one small lamp and the glowing fire. Elsie was surprised that Charles had not returned to his seat on the couch, but stood in the middle of the room. He stood tall, smiling warmly at her. Elsie's heart skipped a beat.

 _My, but he is still the most handsome man,_ she thought.

Though the years had thinned his hair and cramped his hands it had done nothing to diminish his proud posture. He offered her a gloved hand.

"May I have this dance, My Lady?"

Elsie blushed as she took his hand and they began to waltz.

"Elsie, if you'd allowed me, I would have chosen you for each and every Lady," Charles sighed as they spun around the room. "You are a person of rare gifts and spirit and I am so thankful for you each and every day. You embody all the fruit of the Spirit. I know I have tested your Temperance, Kindness, and Patience ever since we met. You have always been Good, Gentle, and Faithful. By being my wife, you have brought such Joy, Love and Peace into my life as I never dared dream possible."

After all this time, she was still sometimes caught unaware by the limitless adoration of her husband. Elsie was too overwhelmed to speak immediately. She simply reached up to touch his face. She gazed lovingly into his Kind eyes which showed her his Good and Gentle soul.

"My darling man, you have filled my life with so much Peace, Love, and Joy that it feels like Christmas the year round," she whispered before reaching up to kiss him. Their dancing slowed to a stop as they kissed.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Hughes."

Elsie laughed at his use of her old nickname. He really did enjoy trying her Patience.

"Happy Christmas, you old booby."

 **AN/ And Happy Christmas to you all. Many Chelsie returns!**


	10. Ch 10: Ten Lords A-Leaping (1930)

**A/N Hi, all! Chelsie fan here, back with my second offering: Ten Lords A-Leaping. I've had so much fun doing this little project with my wonderful coauthors! I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a prosperous, blessed, Happy New Year.**

 _Christmas Day, 1930_

It was no secret that the Abbey's active days were numbered. No precise date had been set for the earl and countess's decampment and permanent relocation to Grantham House, but it would certainly be no later than the start of the Season. There was little reason for the couple to stay in Yorkshire any longer, since their children and grandchildren were scattered far and wide. When they wanted to visit, they could travel just as easily – _more_ easily, even – from London. But before the Abbey was consigned to disuse, the family had one, last Christmas celebration together at Downton. And on Christmas Day, the Abbey hosted the grandest ball Yorkshire had ever seen.

The festivities were impressive in scale and elaborate in nature, and reinforcements had been called in from all quarters. Extra help had been hired from the village. The Carsons had been pressed into service one last time, as had the former Mrs. Patmore, now Mrs. Mason. Other former employees had offered their services, as well, including Mr. Barrow, the Bateses, the Molesleys, and the Parkers, all of whom still lived nearby. They didn't mind returning to the grand, old house one last time after their own observances earlier in the day.

The Carsons' contributions and those of Mrs. Mason had been mostly preliminary and organizational in the days leading up to the event; their advancing years, increasing fatigue, and occasional aches and pains prevented them from contributing much physically or actually serving during the event. They'd helped with arrangements and preparations beforehand; and on Christmas night, while the younger servants tended to the festivities upstairs, they supervised comings and goings in the servants' hall and the kitchen.

While the celebration was proceeding in the Great Hall for the adults, most of the serving staff were occupied with their needs. The children, most of whom had no nanny in attendance, all congregated below stairs, left to the capable charge of Charles and Elsie Carson and Bill and Beryl Mason. Miss Sybbie, Master George, and Miss Marigold, the Talbot girls, the Pelham twins, and the Aldridge children were all present. The Bates children and the Parker boys also scurried about the downstairs while their parents were busy upstairs and in the kitchen. And if anyone were to ask the children, they would say that their party below stairs was far more enjoyable than the one going on above them.

Mrs. Mason and the young Mrs. Daisy Parker had offered them all sorts of treats until the children could eat no more. Mrs. Carson made paper angels, snowflakes, and other decorations with them. Mr. Carson, whose hands sometimes troubled him, had no trouble at all on this occasion performing a few magic tricks and juggling lemons for his delighted audience. And Mr. Mason conducted games of musical chairs, pin the tail on the donkey, and charades. A wireless has been set up, and the children listened to music, sang, and danced.

When the ball ended, the family's children were collected and put to bed, and the Bates and Parker children went home with their parents. When things were quiet downstairs, the Carsons had one last look around their old haunt, knowing it would be their last chance.

"Well, Elsie, this is it," said Mr. Carson pensively as they walked down the corridor together. "Downton's swan song."

"Yes, indeed," Mrs. Carson agreed. "The last great event that this great house will ever see. Does it make you sad, Charles?"

"A bit," admitted Mr. Carson. "For my own sake. But it's hard to be melancholy in the face of such joy and exuberance as we've witnessed tonight."

Mrs. Carson chuckled. "The joy of children is infectious, is it not?"

"It is indeed, my dear."

As the hour was late, Lord and Lady Grantham arranged for cars to drive home their former employees. When the Carsons returned to their house on Brouncker Road, they hung their coats and put away their shoes and headed towards their bedroom. As they passed by the Christmas tree, some of the decorations caught Mrs. Carson's eye and she laughed.

"What's so funny?" asked Mr. Carson.

"Oh, I was just looking at our ornaments. We've certainly seen our share of dancing ladies and leaping lords tonight!" she remarked.

"That we have!" he agreed. "And I'll tell you one thing: attending to the little lords and ladies has proven more exhausting than serving any of the grown lords and ladies I've met over the years!"

"I won't argue that!"

Ten minutes later, when the couple were tucked up together in bed, Mrs. Carson inquired of her husband, who was quiet but still awake, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, love, I think I am," Mr. Carson told his wife. "It's sad to think of the house being closed up, but life moves on, as you've told me many times. When I look at those children, the future doesn't look so dismal. And when I look at _you_ , I realize that I have a great deal to look forward to. I might be frightened to face the future alone, but with you by my side, I welcome whatever may come."

"As you told me when we retired, it will be a different life. And as I told you, we'll manage together."

"And we _have_ managed, haven't we? And we _will_ manage."

She pressed a kiss to lips and cuddled up closer to his side, and together they succumbed to a contented slumber.

 **A/N Thank you for supporting this little effort of ours. Please let us know what you think by leaving us reviews.**


	11. Ch 11: Eleven Pipers Piping

**A/N: It's Hogwarts Duo again! It is my pleasure to present to you:**

 **Eleven Pipers Piping**

It was dark outside and a light snow had just started to fall from the grey clouds overhead. The moon, no longer visible to the naked eye, still lent a mystical glow about the treetops and small patches of snow covered ground. All around, silence reigned peacefully. Not a sound could be heard with the exception of the small crunch of packed snow beneath their feet as they walked, huddled together, in companionable silence back to their warm and welcoming cottage.

Charles looked down and stole a glance at his beautiful wife as they walked. Her hat and coat were covered in snowflakes and as she looked up into his face, a few landed on her eyelashes and lips. Suddenly, his heart began to beat a little faster and he was overwhelmed with love for this woman who had chosen to put her life's happiness into his capable and strong hands. Suddenly, Charles Carson was overcome with an intense feeling, an overwhelming and consuming love for the woman at his side. It had happened before but seeing her bathed in the soft light, the snow falling around her, and that pretty smile upon her lips was his undoing.

Halting their steps along the path to their home, he turned and faced her. "I love you, Elsie. With each passing day, I fall deeper and deeper in love with my wife, and you have made me the happiest of men. I hope you know that." His voice cracked a little as he spoke, though he neither noticed nor cared.

Caught completely by surprise by his heartfelt and emotional declaration, she stared up into his face. The snow began to fall heavier around them, showering them in glittering white as if they were standing inside a snow globe. "Heavens, what's brought this on?" she asked, the emotion clearly audible in her voice but hidden on her cheeks by the redness from the night air.

He leaned down and kissed her lips softly, tenderly, reverently. As he pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, he rendered them both a little breathless. "I was simply reminded of how wonderful my life is, how wonderful my wife is," he whispered into her hair. His lips grazed her forehead then each of her cheeks before capturing her lips once more. Neither of them noticing or caring that the light snowfall had turned heavier, they stood for several long moments enjoying the closeness in that perfect, surreal moment.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her gloved hands resting comfortably at the edge of his coat collar. She longed to run her fingertips along his hairline, to hear that deep, throaty moan that always emerged when she touched him there. She craved the moment when she could rest her cheek upon his bare chest, to place tiny kisses over his heart, to be wrapped up in his strong arms, secure in the knowledge that he would be hers forever.

Finding her voice was difficult, given the intense feelings coursing through her, but she knew she had to try. He deserved that much, more even. "And do you have any idea how happy you make me, Charles?" she asked softly against the shell of his ear. "I never thought I could be as happy as I am in this very moment. But it's all because of you and your love for me," she said as tears sprang to her eyes. "This is the happiest Christmas of my life, truly."

Charles wrapped his arms tightly around her and held her close, savoring the moment as they each committed the last few moments to memory. Finally, when he had found his voice again, Charles suggested that they complete the journey home and warm up by the fire in their little living room.

After changing into their night clothes and dressing gowns, Charles and Elsie curled up on their little sofa in front of the fireplace. Charles had started an impressive fire to heat the room while Elsie had worked quickly to heat the mulled wine that had been a gift from Mr. Mason.

When she entered the sitting room, her breath caught in her throat. Charles had turned off all of the electric lights and the room was bathed in soft, warm shadows from the twinkling glow of their Christmas tree lights as well as the flames from the fire in the hearth. He sat on his end of the sofa, his eyes closed as if he were sleeping, and a contented smile curling about his lips. As soon as he heard her soft footsteps, he turned and stood, taking the tray from her and placing it on the table before them.

He took both of her hands in his and kissed them before guiding her to the sofa. When she was settled, he draped a warm blanket across her legs and waist, handed her the glass with the wine, then nestled in beside her. He wrapped his arm around her and drew her as close to his side as possible, relishing the feel of her soft body pressed against him, secure in the knowledge that this was how his life was supposed to be.

Elsie took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the spices in the wine and the arousing cologne of her husband. In this moment, her life seemed perfect. They had enjoyed the midnight church service with their closest and dearest friends and their generous employers. Her favorite carols had been sung, her husband had been asked by Reverend Travis to read the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke, and it was snowing as they emerged from the church. Their walk home and the sentiments shared in those few precious moments had only served to make the evening even more memorable.

Charles took a sip of his wine then set it aside, choosing instead to fold his wife into his arms. "The service was lovely tonight," he commented, as if reading her thoughts. "I was surprised when Reverend Travis asked me to read this evening."

She snuggled deeper into his side, slipping her hand beneath under his dressing down and pyjama top so she could touch his warm skin at his side. "It was lovely to hear you reading. You did a wonderful job. Even the children were enthralled with your deep and soothing voice. I've never seen them sit so still during a church service," she laughed softly.

"I'm sure they were simply wondering why Carson, the Butler was standing at the front of the church," he teased. "Still, it was lovely to be asked." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and sighed happily as her nails grazed his side, tracing tiny patterns on his skin. "I wonder why so many things were changed this year? We have always conducted the service in the same way for decades."

"Perhaps, like the rest of us, he felt a change was in order. You have to admit, this has been a year packed with ups and downs, changes in every direction. And, I would venture to say that not all of the changes were unwelcomed."

Charles laughed heartily. "You would say that, Mrs. Carson! You seem to thrive on change and sometimes that scares me."

She shifted so she could look into his face, a seriousness about her expression sobering Charles from his laughter. "Why should that scare you, love? Change can be good. Look at what it's done for us," she said, gesturing around their home by way of silent explanation.

He shook his head. "Nothing, really. I only meant that you embrace change so easily, while I tend to cling to the traditions and old ways, probably for longer than you'd like or for what is necessary."

She withdrew her hand from his side and lifted it to his cheek. "But, Charles, that's who you are. That's the man I fell in love with and fall in love with every single day. I do enjoy change, though I respect and appreciate the traditions that brought us here to this moment."

He turned his head and kissed her palm, bringing his hand up to cover hers which still rested against his cheek. "Suppose one day, you decide that you need a change … that your old curmudgeon is too much of an old boobie? I will do my very best to make you happy, Elsie, truly I will, but suppose one day you desire a change I cannot give?"

She shifted so that she was draped across his lap, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders as she hugged him to her. "That day, Charles Carson, will never arrive. You have given me so much, even without realizing it. You are the reason I am so happy this Christmas, and every other day of the year. And any change that I might need or want … well, that will always, and I mean always, include you. I could no sooner leave you behind or walk away from you or what we have together than I could live without air. I hope you understand that, darling."

Tears fell from his eyes as he listened with an open mind and heart to the words she was saying. He kissed her passionately, pouring all of his love into the kiss, silently promising her the world if only she would allow him to offer it.

When the kiss ended, Elsie rested her head on his shoulder and drew the blanket over them tightly. "One nice change I noticed tonight was the music. It was lovely to sing some of the older carols but what on earth prompted the church to have bagpipes? We have never had that before," she said, slightly astonished still at the surprise.

"That was His Lordship's doing, I believe, though I don't think the Dowager completely approved. He has always loved visiting Scotland, and since our wedding, he has mentioned it more and more. I believe hearing the piper at our wedding rekindled something in him."

Elsie laughed. "It rekindled something in me, too. I am still surprised you found a piper at such short notice to play for us. I don't know if I ever thanked you properly for that."

"Doesn't matter. The look on your face was thanks enough for me. It was His Lordship that had the connections. I simply asked if he knew of someone and he put me in contact with the right person. The rest, as they say, is history. I was so pleased that you appreciated the gesture on my part. I was trying to give you a little something of your very own, something to make it truly your day."

She blushed as she remembered practically shouting those words at him, declaring the wedding day to be hers. "I will never know what possessed me to say those things to you, Charles. I had no right …"

"You had every right. I wasn't listening to you, only to what the family wanted for us. I was losing sight of the most important person in our wedding, and I needed to be reminded."

"And then you went and did something so wonderful and unexpected. Still doesn't explain why we had pipers at the service tonight. I'm not complaining, just curious."

"When His Lordship mentioned it to me, he said he had been reminded of a chant he'd heard as a lad and has since been turned into a song. It's called the Twelve Days of Christmas and each day has a special meaning. In the lyrics, it mentions eleven pipers piping."

"Why that many? Wouldn't one piper be sufficient, especially to those not inclined towards bagpipe music," she joked. "To someone unfamiliar with the pipes or disinclined to the tone, it can be quite annoying."

Charles took a long sip of his now cooling mulled wine and pulled Elsie tighter to him as he began to sing the song to her, still not directly answering her question. As he finished, he kissed her nose sweetly. "I've no idea, really. Perhaps the writer loved a beautiful Scottish lass and wished to impress her with his ability to round up eleven bagpipers and play her a reel or two," he teased. "Stranger things have happened in the course of true love," he reminded her. "I seem to remember an old man who thought the best way to broach the subject of marriage with his true love was to put her name on a deed to a house and hope for the best."

She wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, thankful to be able to caress the sensitive spot at the base of his neck and earning her a delicious moan from him as she teased and tickled his skin, threading her fingers through his hair. She stretched so that she could nibble his ear lobe just slightly before slipping into the Scottish lilt he loved to hear. "Aye, but all she needed was the lone piper to set her heart ablaze," she purred softly. "She would have gladly lived with him in a little hovel somewhere, as long as she knew he loved her and cherished her."

Charles suddenly felt incredibly warm as a heady feeling washed over him. "Just one piper … when she deserves that and so much more?" he struggled to say.

"Just one," she answered. "Care to join me upstairs while I explain why only one bagpiper is needed to make your true love happy?"

He deftly maneuvered his hand beneath her gown and caressed her legs tenderly, letting her know he wanted her and everything she was suggesting. "Stay here for just a few more minutes, please. I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life. It's our first Christmas Day as husband and wife, and I want to start it off properly."

She shook her head and smiled. "What could be more proper than making love with your wife in the early hours of Christmas morning? I can't think of anything more enjoyable," she teased as she toyed with the buttons on his pyjama top until she unfastened two and slipped her hand inside to caress his chest.

He dropped his head and nuzzled the side of her neck, eliciting a quiet moan from her as she shifted close to him. "I may not be able to afford eleven pipers or everything mentioned in that song, but I can offer you something more precious than all those things combined." He drew back just far enough so he could look into her face, his prominent nose brushing against hers. "I offer you this, my darling … with all my worldy goods, I thee endow, with my body, I thee worship," he said, repeating the vows he had made months earlier.

Gently, he shifted them down onto the sofa until she was tenderly pinned beneath him, intent on showering her with all of his love in the dim light of their first Christmas tree and the warmth of the fire. "Let's celebrate here, then you can take me upstairs and teach me all about that lone piper and how important he is to you."

"Happy Christmas, Charles," she murmured against his lips as her hands made quick work of his dressing gown and shirt.

"The happiest one of them all," he said, his lips grazing her now bare shoulder. "I love you. Thank you for giving me the best gift … you."

She leaned up and kissed him fiercely. "My true love gave to me … his heart. That's all I'll ever need."

 **C &E&C&E&C&E**

 **A/N 2: Thank you so much for your continued support for our story and for each author represented. It truly was a collaborative effort and one which I am proud to say I was part of. If you're so inclined, please take a moment to leave a review. They would be most appreciated! Happy Christmas! xx**


	12. Ch 12: Twelve Drummers Drumming (1938)

**A/N: This is it, the final entry in our 12 Days fic. THANK YOU to all of you who've read, reblogged, and reviewed this! What started out as a crazy little idea turned into something incredibly fun! Speaking personally, this was my first time collaborating on a fic … I would** _ **totally**_ **do it again! Huge shout out to chelsie fan, hogwarts-duo, kouw, Chelsie Dagger, and evitamockingbird - go read their stuff, it's amazing!**

 **This entry is a bit long, but I hope you enjoy it! Here's wishing you the Happiest of Christmases and a Joyous New Year.**

 **Chelsie on! xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **December 24, 1938**_

Elsie was tired, and her words were shaky as they sounded against her husband's back in the stillness of the bedroom.

"He plans to join up, if we end up going to war. He's made up his mind."

Elsie's soft voice pulled Charles from his almost-asleep state.

"Hm?"

"George," she clarified, and Charles heard the hitch in her voice. Now fully awake, he rolled onto his back and slowly raised his arm so that his wife could tuck herself in by his body, enabling him to hold her as she wept.

Minutes later, her soft crying finally subsided.

"She wondered," he mused, stroking Elsie's arm absentmindedly as he pondered Lady Mary's unusual solemnity when last they'd spoken. "But she knew he'd want to talk to you about it first. Was this what you discussed when the two of you moved away from the crowd after the service?"

 _On Christmas Eve of all days … the lad's timing couldn't have been worse,_ Charles thought. But he knew better than to say _that_ aloud; a dozen years of marriage had, indeed, taught him a few things.

Elsie sniffled and pressed herself even closer to Charles's body, enabling him to encircle her with his strong, protective arms. She loved it, she freely admitted; having spent the first sixty years of her life being so strong for others, Elsie was so grateful for the fact that, for the last dozen, she'd been able to breathe more easily because of Charles, because of the care he always afforded her. In her opinion, it was the greatest surprise of their married life – not that Charles had the capacity to care for her in that way, but that she would allow it as frequently and enjoy it as much as she did.

"Yes, it was," she allowed. "He's afraid to hurt his mother, not to mention his sister, but he feels so _passionately_ about doing this."

She reached over her husband's torso to reach his other hand and grasped it gently in her own.

"Do you remember, Charles, when it was his father? When it was William, and Thomas, and all the rest? How perfectly _awful_ it was?"

"How could I not? With the house full of soldiers, no word from Mr. Crawley nor William for such an awfully long time? And all the while, his Lordship stuck between the symbolism of his own position and the desire to do _more."_

"And George wants to do his father proud," she said sadly, pushing herself up and looking at him through tear-filled eyes. "I _need_ for him _not_ to do this, Charles … but, so help me, God, I couldn't bring myself to talk him out of it."

"Nor should you have," her husband said. "It is _his_ choice, love … despite what the women in his life want or need. It is not _your_ decision," he reinforced gently. "And while I would change this for you if I could, Els, you know that I cannot."

Elsie nodded sadly and leaned her head down so that he could kiss her forehead.

"Who'd have thought?" Charles chuckled after a moment. _"_ Of all the children in that household, including Anna's, who'd have _ever_ thought that it would be _her_ son to whom you'd grow so attached?"

"I know," she answered, a trace of a smile on her lovely face. "And I'll thank you not to rub _that_ in," she added.

"But you know I will," Charles replied, laughing as softly as possible. "Let's try to get some sleep, hm? Tomorrow will come soon enough, and with the houseful you've invited for brunch you'll want some rest."

In the darkness of the room, she missed the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"I'm not sure I can sleep," she hinted, placing a kiss to his shoulder. "Would it be too much to ask ..." she trailed off, looked up at him with a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

"Your wish is my command, Mrs. Carson," he rumbled. Charles sat up against the headboard and put on his reading glasses. "You'd like the Dickens, I presume? As it _is_ Christmas Eve – or, more accurately, Christmas Day?" he asked, reaching for the book as she nodded.

"Thank you, yes," she said, settling her head back onto his chest as he opened the book and started to read it aloud to her in that velvety voice that always soothed her soul.

And so it was that, amidst tales of ghosts and snowfall, of merriment and children, Elsie Carson finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When morning dawned, Charles slipped quietly from the bed. He eased open the door of the armoire and reached into the far corner, removing one last gift for Elsie, one that he'd bought weeks ago but that he knew would be ever so much sweeter now. He tiptoed down the stairs and nestled the package amongst the branches of the tree before moving on to the kitchen to carry out the rest of his wife's surprise.

* * *

Elsie woke with a start, realizing instantly that Charles wasn't there. She rolled over and reached for his pocket watch, snapping it open to check the time.

 _9:00. You **never** sleep this late! And with guests coming at __**noon!**_

She slipped into her dressing gown and sat in front of the mirror, undoing her plait and then running a brush through her long, greying hair as her thoughts wandered.

When they'd announced their retirement so soon after the departure of Mr. Barrow, Charles and Elsie had no idea the impact their notice would receive. The plans to close the Abbey were under way at that point, and with Charles not feeling quite up to the job anymore it had seemed the natural progression of things to retire and not follow the family to Grantham House.

What neither of them had expected was that the impact of their announcement wouldn't affect the _adults_ in the household so much as the _children –_ one golden-haired boy in particular ...

 _"Mrs. Hughes?"_

 _Young Master George had found his way to her sitting room, his huge, tear-filled blue eyes breaking her heart. He looked_ _ **so**_ _very much like his father, his every emotion written all over his face._

 _"Master George! Whatever is the matter?" She reached a hand out to him and led him to her settee, where he promptly sat. She offered him a chocolate biscuit from the tin she kept secreted away in her desk for her husband, and then sat to join him._

 _"Why is everyone leaving? Is it … is it because you don't love us anymore?" he whispered, tears spilling over at last._

 _Because we don't 'love them?' thought Elsie. What in the world is he on about? It isn't our place to-_

 _And then it hit her like a ton of bricks, and she'd practically fallen back against the backrest of the settee: she_ _ **did**_ _love these children, so very much. These children of the_ _ **upstairs,**_ _so young, their lives changing faster than anyone could keep up with; these children, who shared that one tragic commonality that would forever unite them in a way that was beyond the typical bond that cousins shared._

 _Yes, she loved them all, but Master George was, she admitted, special to her heart. He reminded her so very much of his father and grandmother, the 'outside' Crawleys that never seemed to fit in with the rest of them until, all of a sudden, they just_ _ **did.**_ _They had been much like a certain Scottish housekeeper in that regard, one who'd also found her way in this house, in this family, so many years ago ... a young woman who'd never thought she'd fit in with her thick accent and her ignorance of their customs until, one day, with the help of a kindly housekeeper and the tall, handsome butler, she_ _ **did.**_

 _"Of course we still love you, Master George," she said, reassuring him with a pat on the hand. (Because what else do you tell a child who asks you that?) "But Mr. Carson and I are getting a bit old for our sort of work."_

 _"Do you think I might visit you after you leave? With Mama? She loves Mr. Carson very much, you know," he'd said, nodding sagely, "and I know she will miss him. She said so to Grandmama."_

 _Elsie chuckled. "Yes, your Mama **does** care for him, very much - she always has. And Mr. Carson holds a special place in his heart for **her,** too."_

 _"And me?" he'd asked innocently._

 _"You, Master George, hold a special place in_ _ **mine."**_

 _From that day on, she and young George had, indeed, become good chums. He and Lady Mary had visited regularly as promised, and Elsie always made sure to set aside special time for herself and George, usually accompanied by his favourite chocolate shortbread._

 _And while Charles would never be able to call Lady Mary anything but 'Milady,' Master George seemed to have a different outlook on things. When he was ten years old, he had asked Elsie to simply call him 'George,' saying the title of 'Master' felt strange given that none of the other boys he knew went by a title anymore. She'd complied, with the caveat that it would only be inside of her home where she would dare to be so informal. George had smirked and offered her his hand, which she'd shaken to seal the deal ..._

The smell of … _something … what_ _ **is**_ _that? …_ pulled Elsie from her musings. She headed into the en suite to finish her morning ablutions, then slid on her slippers and padded down the stairs toward the kitchen. As she reached the bottom, the sound of her husband's humming put a smile on her face, the tune instantly recognizable.

"And are you still my true love, spoiling me so at Christmas time?" she teased, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek on his back.

"Always," he replied, pulling one of her hands to his lips and kissing it softly.

"What's all this?" she asked, peering around his broad frame to see what he was up to. "Chestnuts, Charles?"

"This," he replied, turning to face her, "is part of your Christmas present." He handed her a slice of toast, which she hungrily bit into as her brow furrowed. She spied sausages on the stove, which her nose _had_ identified earlier, but the other pan had her confused.

"I don't understand... toast and _chestnuts?"_

She noticed then the twinkle in her husband's eye, and squinted her eyes at him as she chewed and then swallowed another bite.

"What _are_ you up to, you daft man?" But then Elsie happened to look across the kitchen to the pantry, and her eyes widened suddenly. "Charles, _where_ is the rest of the food for today's brunch?"

Her husband smiled broadly at slight edge of panic in her raised voice, and he dipped down to place a kiss to her very surprised face.

"At Yew Tree Farm," he said brightly, "where it is being turned into what I have no doubt will be a _delightful_ Christmas feast, to be brought back _here_ in approximately ..." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "… nine hours."

 _"What?"_

Elsie looked furious, and Charles was taken aback. Only then did he recall the rocky beginnings of their marriage, the bouts of discomfort as he and Elsie had negotiated the slippery road of food preparation. In the years since, they'd taken to cooking _together,_ but her piercing look brought it allback to him in an instant.

"My _intention,"_ he stressed, waving his now trembling hands in front of him, "was that my wife – my _lovely, darling,_ _ **cherished**_ _wife –_ would be able to spend this one Christmas relaxing in her home. I spoke with Beryl and also with Daisy, and they helped me to concoct this plan. Everyone is still joining us here, as you wished, but the time has been moved to later in the day. And yes, before you ask, I _do_ have food for us to consume between now and then. But _you_ are not to lift a finger to do _anything_ except open the rest of your gifts."

"And when, _precisely,_ did they come into _possession_ of the food?" she asked, her disbelief written all over her face.

"Last night, when we lingered at church," he admitted.

"The key?"

"Passed off when we greeted them before the service."

"But there's not enough," she protested, worrying, "not for a _big_ meal!"

"Well, there will be once you add in the goose," he mumbled, a smile playing about his lips.

 _"What goose?!"_

"The one I ordered from the market last week when you popped into the post office for stamps," he said gleefully. "And the Masons also insisted on contributing a few items from the farm. Daisy and Andrew will bring dessert, and the Bateses are still bringing the girls … and even Lady Mary might stop by with your lad," he added, knowing that with _those_ words, he'd just rendered moot any argument she may have had.

It was the sight of his trembling hands that did her in, though, the harsh reminder of how quickly he'd had to give up his livelihood and how hard it had been for him to cope with the changes that had brought. He'd struggled over these last few years to find a way to feel as though he were _meaningful,_ the desire to simply be able to _do_ things again running powerfully within his heart.

"I can't believe you," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "You daft, sneaky, conniving, _lovely_ man!" She reached up and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him repeatedly on the lips.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Carson," he managed amidst her kisses. "Now, there's a fire roaring in the hearth in the sitting room. Head on in and get settled," he said, handing her a cup of tea.

Elsie smiled and shook her head. "Alright," she agreed, still in a state of disbelief at the kindness – and _cunning_ – of her darling husband.

As she passed through the door to the parlour, thinking nothing could top the surprise Charles had just laid upon her; then she stopped dead in her tracks and realized that she'd been so very _wrong_ in that thought.

The Christmas tree was lit, casting a soft glow about the room. But Charles had added white candles in amongs the pine boughs on the mantle, and had arranged others with the knick-knacks on the tables. Combined with the fire in the hearth and the as-yet unopened curtains, the glow within the room was magical.

 _Wait … what's that?_

Elsie approached the tree slowly as she sipped her tea. She saw a package tucked in between two of the branches – a package that most certainly had _not_ been there yesterday when she'd laid the last of her husband's gifts under the tree. She reached out to grab it, and saw her name scrawled upon the gift tag. She fingered the clumsily-tied ribbon, and took a deep breath to steady herself as her heart simultaneously broke and soared at the sight of it. She knew it must have been a challenge for him to both wrap and tie the gift, not to mention fill out the small tag, and she just shook her head in wonder.

As she tried to rein in her emotions once again, thinking age and retirement had made a crybaby out of her, Elsie's eyes fell upon the ornaments of their tree. There, she saw the bits and baubles they'd purchased or been gifted over the years: the partridge, the ravens, the doves, and more. There was a milkmaid that had come from Lady Edith, a ballerina dancing with a young Lord that Sybbie and Tom Branson had given them, a piper, a goose, and the hen that Charles had purchased as a joke last year when she'd reminded him of her dear Aurora. And near the top, a pair of swans, nestled together with foreheads touching, their necks and chests forming the shape of a heart. That one Elsie had gifted to Charles two years ago. She reached out to touch it and the light from the tree bounced off her ring – _five gold rings,_ she remembered, _but only one that ever mattered_. She smiled as she thought of how the ring was the only ornament missing, how it was the one they never felt the need to put on the tree.

 _No,_ she frowned, puzzled, _there is still one more thing missing ..._

Charles came in to the sound of his wife muttering in a sing-song way, and he smiled as he realized instantly what was going through her mind.

"Open the gift, Elsie," he said softly, startling her a bit.

"I'm trying to figure out what we still need," she said absentmindedly. "Partridge in a pear tree, two turtle doves, three French hens ..." she muttered.

Charles took the teacup from her hand and led her to the settee. "Open it," he said again, pointing to the box.

"Alright, then," she answered, having lost her train of thought. She sat next to Charles, and let her eyes wander up and down his chest.

 _My, but he does still look so dashing in those red pajamas …_

She set down her teacup and tugged at the bow. Placing the ribbon in her lap, she reached a fingernail underneath the corner of the paper and tore it off, then proceeded to lift the lid of the small box that had been revealed. She reached in and pulled out the red satin ribbon that was peeking out from the tissue inside.

And then she gasped once again, for dangling from the end of the ribbon was a precious, ceramic drummer boy, clad in a soldier's uniform, his flaxen hair shining and contrasting drastically with the brightness of his jacket.

"I'd picked it out weeks ago, to complete our collection," he said quietly, "but early this morning I realized it would have even more importance now. The resemblance is remarkable, isn't it?"

Elsie could only nod in agreement as she wiped her eyes. She rose from the sofa and placed the ornament on the tree, right in the center, and the lights twinkled from the gold-painted accents of the drum and the buttons on the boy's coat.

She moved back to where Charles was still sitting and stood between his knees as she reached up to lovingly caress his face, her fingers running through the thinning hair at his temples, her eyes drinking in his beautiful visage.

"I have no words, my love, to thank you for this day, nothing adequate at all," she whispered, bending down to kiss his forehead before pulling him into an embrace, his face warm through the cotton of her robe as he reached his arms around her and held her tightly.

"There's no need, Els. _This_ is all the thanks I need," he said. "Having you in my arms every day and every night – it is more than enough."

She started unbuttoning his shirt, the need to touch him suddenly and powerfully overwhelming.

"We aren't close enough to one another," she murmured, her hands flying over his placket of buttons. "And I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I am no longer in the mood for the tea."

"Is that so?" he asked, smiling as his ears picked up on the dulcet tones in her voice.

"Mm-hm," she replied, taking his hand and helping him up off the settee.

"Well," he chuckled, "we _do_ have almost all day ..."

* * *

Elsie sighed as she cradled her husband in her arms, his head resting once again on her bosom, the skin of his as-yet unshaven cheek prickly against the skin of her chest. She didn't care in the slightest, knowing she'd have plenty of time to shave his stubble before their guests arrived.

She was stroking his arm absentmindedly, gazing off into the fire as she relished the feeling of utter peace and love that had settled around them both. She felt Charles breathe in deeply before speaking, and so his voice didn't startle her at all.

"Do you ever wish you'd gone another way, Mrs. Hughes?" he asked, and she heard the smile in his voice.

"What, and worked in a shop, or a factory perhaps?" she teased. "Do you?"

"Never."

Charles placed a kiss over hear heart. "I have all that I ever could have hoped for right here, right now," he said softly. "And I hope you always remember that."

"I shall," she said. "And you know I feel the same. If I'd gone another way, I may have had another husband, or children of my own, but nothing could possibly compare to what I have right here, at this moment, my love. This life has been a gift to me, and one I could never possibly repay."

"And we do have children in our lives, don't we?" he murmured, nestling his head underneath her chin. "In our own way, we always have."

Elsie's mind returned to the twinkling drummer boy playing his silent tune amidst the other ornaments of the tree, and she smiled and nodded.

"That we do. Happy Christmas, my love."

"Happy Christmas, Elsie."

And, with that, they drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 **That's all, folks! Please leave a teensy review to let me know what you thought. I am looking forward to the CS with 90% fear/apprehension/sadness and 10% hope ... for we must always travel in hope, after all. xx**


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